Joanna Blythman reviews Rossini in Glasgow

Food rating 8 and a half/10

What an improvement Scotland’s Italian food scene has witnessed. New-wave enterprises are edging out fuddy-duddy trattorias with archaic old menus, ushering in a new wave of restaurants that emphasise authenticity, hands-on effort, and ingredient provenance. Leading the way in Edinburgh, there’s trailblazing Caffè Contini, and in Glasgow the fabulous Eusebi. Tarantino in Glasgow, with its emphasis on Puglia, was ahead of the latest welcome trend for regional cooking. Italy became a country only late in its history; culturally it is still a nation of regions, each with a distinct cuisine.

And now Rossini in Glasgow’s Partick has cranked up regional credentials a further notch. Once again, Pugliese food is at its heart. The eponymous chef comes from Bari, Puglia’s historic seaside city. I can testify to the fact that it’s hard to eat badly- either in terms of quality, or health- in Puglia. It overflows with olive oil, fresh fish and bivalves, notably mussels, varied vegetables, and diverse legumes. And Rossini doesn’t let the side down.

We start with arancini, three of them, each approaching the size of a tennis ball. Portions are large here with a low price tag. The best is stained terracotta with Nduja sausage- made from the offal and fatty parts of pig and spiked with hot peperoncino. This meat speciality from neighbouring Calabria lends the bland rice a striking sour, fruity, smoky ham taste combined with melting, stretchy cheese in middle to temper its fierceness. The others- one more mellow with herby meat ragù, one nominally saffron, but underpowered on that front- are pleasant but unmemorable. More street food next in the form of panzerotto, which literally means ‘the belly of the dough’, Puglia’s deep-fried version of calzone. Its exterior is crisp with a gooey underbelly; it spurts bright tomato sauce bonded with molten mozzarella. More than a hint of chilli graces the lively tomato (possibly with a hint of red pepper?) sauce that accompanies it.

For a second we wish that we’d ordered the sea bass. Typical of Puglia, the vegetables that accompany it are lavish, interesting, and mainly seasonal: roast winter pumpkin, chard, and samphire. But then who could overlook the handmade- yes, handmade on the premises!- orecchiette (little ears) pasta, cooked immaculately al dente, and tossed with cime di rapa (turnips tops), Pecorino cheese, cherry tomato, heaps of extra virgin olive oil, and a hint of chilli? We’re offered grated Parmesan, but this dish doesn’t need it. It has just enough fine dried breadcrumbs (mollica) to soak up its juices.

But then the large tubular paccheri pasta (meaning ‘slaps’) is also a triumph, its flat firm body is coated in crumbled pork sausage meat that reeks of good buying, and an emollient homemade pistachio pesto that’s been slackened to perfection with a judicious drop or two of the pasta cooking water.

The lure of homemade rosemary biscuits and chutney leads us to the cheese plate. The crackers gleam with oil and are aromatized by the herb’s pungency; the chutney is more a liquid Italian ‘mostarda’ than British chutney. There’s heaps of cheese; fat wedges of salty, medium-aged Pecorino, gooey Gorgonzola Dolce, chewy Provolone and ripe Tallegio. A generous line-up for £7.95

We’re offered cakes, but told they’re not made on the premises. We opt instead for ice cream from Turin, which is definitely not in Puglia. Not that Pugliese people don’t make great gelato; I’ll never forget the ricotta, fig, and lemon one I had in Bari. Today though, these gelati aren’t at all special: a just about ok hazelnut one; a pistachio one that’s worryingly minty green with a faux almond flavour.

So I’d ignore desserts here and stick to savouries. I really want to try the cime di rape sautéed with olive oil and garlic, the classic Pugliese Tiella- rice slowly baked in the oven with mussels, potatoes, and tomatoes. And there’s a very sensible wine list, which features around 20 well-picked wines from Puglia, the Veneto, Tuscany, and Campania, a good number by the glass, as little as 125 mls, which means that you can afford to sample several of them. Rossini is what you’d barely dare to hope for, a proper family-run, Pugliese restaurant, but in Scotland.