THERE’S A MOMENT IN THE FILM Six Degrees of Separation when Stockard Channing’s character, Ouisa, slaps the roof of the Sistine Chapel, touching the hand of God on Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam fresco.
Given the chance, we’d all love to slap the almighty’s hand, but happily settle for lesser gods such as Warnie, a Kardashian or in this case, the lovely jubbly Jamie Oliver.
That desire partly explains a queue outside the CBD trattoria bearing his name when I join it at 12.05pm on a weekday. They don’t take bookings for less than six people.
In the front window, a young chef gathers “vibrant” (it says so on the specials board) beetroot pasta as it emerges from a brass extruder. Fifteen minutes elapse before we reach an English-accented young woman who explains another 20 minutes will pass before we can be seated. I’m handed a beeper and invited to wait in the bar. She’s true to her word, however it’s after 1pm by the time our first dish arrives. The kitchen is reasonably quick, but if you only have an hour for lunch, chances are you’ll spend most of it waiting.
Italian nachos. Fair enough really, since Italy borrowed tomatoes from the Aztecs. Just sprinkle a little Mexican parmesan on top.
The god of pukka tucker is applying the same principles that made McDonalds a global success to Jamie’s Italian. He’s selling the restaurants as a franchise. There are several throughout the UK, with plans for 30 more in Asia. The Sydney branch is run by the Pacific Restaurant Group, which also owns a trio of Kingsleys Steak & Crabhouses, and they hope to roll out more of the Oliver magic across Australia’s capitals.
Jamie’s Italian is all about systems. And volume. It’s affordable, especially for the CBD. Mains generally sit in the mid-$20 mark. But to achieve that requires turnover. The 200 diners spread out across two levels in a space that’s the Magic Kingdom of Italian, with its touch of French brasserie, are processed with delightful efficiency. This is fast food dressed up as rustic Italian. The service is as cheerful and charming as the man himself.
Jamie’s special ingredient is adjectives such as “gorgeous”, “vibrant”, “beautiful” and “amazing” sprinkled liberally through many dishes.
My favourite is the “insanely good truffle oil” on that most rustic of Italian classics, “posh chips”, $6, with parmesan. At least no truffles are harmed in making truffle oil: it’s synthetic. Incidentally, an American running a French restaurant in California claims to have invented truffle fries.
The menu is divided into eight nibbles, 10 antipasti, 13 pasta and rice dishes, 12 mains, 10 sides (not contorni, as Italians would say) and nine desserts.
I should have been Italian, Jamie says, but I suspect only Silvio Berlusconi would rival him in the popularity stakes once Italians discovered his “authentic” menu includes an appetiser of “Italian nachos”, $7, and “Italian Bakewell tart”, $9, for dessert. Putting mascarpone and grated orange zest on this almond-and-jam English tart, which also has a hint of chilli, makes it no more Italian than Queen Elizabeth drinking Chianti.
But first, we start with the nachos: deep-fried ravioli with a four-cheese filling and “angry” arrabiata sauce. Again, it’s more American than Italian, the crunchy pasta puffed up like Sicilian cannoli, with small nuggets of gooey cheese filling inside. Scamorza arancini, $9.50, crumbed and fried rice balls filled with smoky mozzarella and porcini are more satisfying and truthfully Italian.
There’s an Italian bread selection “on the house” but we neither ask for it nor have it offered to us. An Italian meal without bread is like the Vatican without a pope.
Wild boar sausage on lentils
Next is bucatini carbonara, $12/$19. The pasta suffers from what seems like rigor mortis – a stiffness that leaves it bent like leftover electrical wires and impossible to twirl on a fork. There’s a creamy puddle in the bowl along with pancetta, leeks and parmesan.
The short pasta tubes in the cuttlefish paccheri, $13.50/$21, are also what my dining companion declares “bravely al dente”, although I like the braised cuttlefish in white wine with capers, tomato and parsley.
Tuscan wild boar sausage, $22.40 is a little dry, although pleasantly spiced on a bed of lentils sharpened with vinegar. The best dish is ‘fish baked in a bag’, $28, a take on Sicily’s pesce al cartoccio. A mulloway fillet with fennel, chilli and mussels and clams in their shells, sits on couscous-like bulgur wheat that absorbs the briny juices as the fish steams in a paper-and-foil “bag” that releases its wonderful scent when opened.
Italian bakewell tart - take some along to your next bunga bunga party
I don’t doubt the quality of the ingredients or the commitment of all involved, but there’s something missing from this restaurant. Call it a soul. The Italian word I’d use to describe the place is furbo: clever, but not quite truthful.
No doubt Jamie’s Italian will be hugely popular. For how long, who knows. It depends on Jamie keeping his “brand” strong.
Eventually, interest will fade and Jamie’s Italian will disappear like the disposable pop it embodies. Hopefully, the investors will have made their cash after everyone’s had the chance to slap the hand of god.
But for this travesty to all that is great about Italian eating in Sydney, I just want to slap Oliver.
SCORE 6/10
Where 107 Pitt St, Sydney; Ph 8240 9000
When Lunch & dinner Mon-Sat 11.30am-late; no bookings
Food Italian
In a mouthful In a city with a great Italian heritage and food, Jamie Oliver’s faux Italian doesn’t cut the mostarda, but that won’t stop it being a roaring success.
* A version of this review first appeared in The Daily Telegraph, December 2011
