Fresh face for Dolada

Lately I heard that there was a new chef at that same address who comes from a family with a restaurant and hotel in Veneto that has been in their ownership for four generations. Mosaico, which had closed for a short period of grooming, reopened last week as Dolada, the name of the albergo/ristorante on the slopes of Dolada mountain overlooking Santa Croce Lake that belongs to young chef Riccardo de Pra’s parents. The Mayfair restaurant ownership apparently stays the same.

On a chilly evening there is a case to be made for a windowless restaurant down a flight of stairs, and the welcome from the receptionists was warm. There was no "Have you booked?" or "Can I help you?" (a maddening question in a restaurant environment) just enthusiasm. And I am pretty sure they did not know me from a bar of soap.

The restaurant is long and deep with a mirror strip at your eye level when seated which enables efficient people- watching. This activity produced an unsurprising parade of the sort of women who once were labelled Mayfair Mercenaries and their schlumpy men friends but suddenly we sat up straight when a Barack Obama lookalike came in. Typical of Obama, he didn’t stay very long or spend any time eating. We did and it was worth it.

The menu has stayed true to the notion of being expense-account expensive but a first course of "traditional" tortellini in brodo featured such ethereal stock, such delicate, yielding, finely filled pasta parcels that the £18 price — about the average for first courses — didn’t seem impossibly difficult to swallow. I asked what was new about "new" spaghetti carbonara — the restaurant has knuckled under to the British way of ordering and bracketed pasta together with first courses. The answer: there is no cream and the dish is deconstructed so that spaghetti, poached egg, crisp pancetta and grated Parmesan sit separately in the bowl waiting for the recipient to toss them all together. It works extremely well even though, being wary of carbohydrates, I would have preferred a bit less pasta.

Wild pigeon with Marsala-braised shallots was served from a copper pan, which was left on the table. The meat, already carved into rosy pink slices, was a triumphant bosky result for a bird that is tricky to get right. We felt almost transported to the slopes of Mount Dolada.

Cotoletta alla Milanese featured an improbably juicy veal chop on the bone dusted with fine breadcrumbs. Since no vegetables were offered I asked for spinach and a big plate of the green stuff arrived cooked perfectly with just a sly hint of garlic. The price, it turned out later, was £4.

Dishes marked with an asterisk are suitable for vegetarians. I can see the thinking behind including snail risotto alla Veneta in that category but it doubtless wouldn’t wash with a vegetarian. Some of that tribe also rule out cheese, which appears in other soi‑disant vegetarian assemblies — but at least they are trying. Kevin would be mystified.

I expect we are all now reviving thrifty practices like squashing little bits of soap together in an old sock to achieve a new bigger bar. At Dolada the same principle seemed to have been applied to cheese to create what they called a terrine served with slices of fresh pear and a little fruit salad. It was good but perhaps not worth £12. At half the price, scoops of vanilla, pistachio and Piemonte hazelnut ice cream served as a trio were a real treat.

Riccardo de Pra made a brief appearance and he looked like a sweet chap. His cooking is definitely worth a try. Lunch is somewhat cheaper.

Dolada
Albemarle Street, London, W1S 4HJ