LDNReview
Manteca
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If you’ve ever spent any time with anyone who used to work, go out, or take a piss in Soho, then you’ll know that it was much better back then. You know, back in the glory days. They’ll say it’s not the same now. It’s changed. Too many Prets and iPhones. Not enough brothels. They’ll shake their head. They’ll sigh. They’ll look lovingly at a bin they were sick behind 20-odd years ago. And then, just when they think all hope is lost, that’s when you tell them about Manteca.
Manteca is an Italian-ish restaurant on Great Marlborough Street, and it’s the kind of place Soho should be known for from here on in. It’s a packout-by-7pm-pasta specialist that doesn’t seem to care about much else other than reminding people that a central London restaurant can still be the full shebang. Delicious. Fun. Good value. And, cool.
photo credit: Giulia Verdinelli
You want to come here in the evening if you want all of those things. That’s when Manteca is all the sounds of Soho. The hum of conversation, the tip-tap of forks hitting plates of pappardelle, and the thud of negronis and wine hitting the table over, and over, again. Size-wise, it’s a little bigger than a couple of single decker buses side by side. Only with black walls, hanging plants, an easy-on-the-eye amber hue, and two banquettes filled with tables, plus some more in the middle. It’s not cramped but - at the risk of sounding like a sex shop copywriter - they’ve maximised their inches. You could lean over and twirl a forkful of another table’s crab cacio e pepe if you tried, though you’d have to be quick: none of the pasta sticks around for long.
The menu is split between small plates, four or five pastas, and big hunks of meat. Plus some unmissable desserts. The pastas are essential, as are the crispy pink fir potatoes with silky smoked cod’s roe, but you can’t get them all first time around. So, if your first visit is a date night (good call, by the way), we’d recommend those potatoes, whatever bitter leaf salad is on, the ox cheek pappardelle, and another pasta. The ragu, so often an underwhelming must-order elsewhere, is delicious. Lacking in visible sauce but 4K in meaty flavour, it’s a horrible thing to pretend to happily share. Also, it costs £9.50. Nine [nahyn]. Pounds [paunds]. Fifty [fiftee]. And there’s a solid bowl of it too.
photo credit: Giulia Verdinelli
This is the story with everything at Manteca. And this is why you’ll need to plan trips ahead. Date night first. Friday night with friends next. That way you can get the deep fried ciccioli (fatty pork cakes) and the oh-so-rich crab cacio e pepe in as well. Next, a lunchtime catch-up with the in-laws. Borlotti beans on toast - a snack that Heinz would have invented if they’d done a year abroad in Florence - should be on your mind. And a pasta you haven’t had too. We have to caveat that bits of meat like the pork chop are nice, but they’re not must-orders. The warm date and prune cake is. It’s a brown slab sat in a puddle of brown caramel with a brownish scoop of ginger ice cream on top. There aren’t enough brownie points in the world to give to it.
More than anything, Manteca feels like a people restaurant: full of us and made for us. It’s about your satisfaction rather than anything self-congratulatory. You’ll drop £20 on a bowl of perfectly cooked pig tail garganelli, plus a scoop of dark chocolate sorbet, and walk out compelled to run into Spaghetti House around the corner and start shaking everyone in there. Not because they’ve made a bad decision, but because there’s a much better one two minutes away. Yes, Soho’s changed, but the things that make a great restaurant haven’t.
Food Rundown
Fried Ciccioli With Apple Ketchup
photo credit: Giulia Verdinelli
Pink Fir Potatoes With Smoked Cod’s Roe
Borlotti Bean Crostino
Bitter Leaves
Brown Crab Cacio e Pepe Tonnarelli
Ox Cheek Ragu Pappardelle
Kale And Chilli Farfalle
photo credit: Giulia Verdinelli