Then comes the pasta. Trullo has become almost mythic for it, and rightly so. My guest’s pici with guindilla chilli, garlic and pangrattato from the vegan menu is a tangle of heat and texture – the breadcrumbs giving crunch, the garlic lending depth. My own pici with Romana courgettes, parmesan and basil is softer, greener, more comforting; the kind of dish that feels both homely and deliberate – like comfort food but with an elevated edge. There’s something deeply satisfying about how both plates arrive – no garnish for the sake of it, no flourish, just the quiet confidence of food that’s been made with care minutes before service.
For mains, my butterflied Mevagissey mackerel with panzanella is smoky from the charcoal grill, the fish crisped at the edges and soft in the centre. Across the table, my guest’s artichokes alla giudia with coco beans, wilted spinach and purple olive dressing feels like its perfect counterpart – earthy, rich and bright all at once. A side of Cornish mids to share rounds things out, the potatoes golden, salted and sprinkled with just the right mix of rosemary and thyme. We both drank a perfectly dry red wine.
Dessert is tiramisu, of course – light, creamy and properly made. It doesn’t try to reinvent anything, it just delivers that perfect balance of coffee, mascarpone and cocoa that makes you close your eyes for a moment longer than you meant to, savouring.
Like with the tiramisu, Trullo isn’t trying to reinvent Italian cooking – instead, it’s celebrating it. But what sets it apart is that sense of balance: rustic without being heavy, elegant without being pretentious. Each dish feels as if it could have come from someone’s kitchen in Puglia – but someone who happens to have impeccable taste in wine and lighting.
What Trullo offers, in the end, is a kind of quiet confidence. There’s no theatre, no posturing, no desperate attempt to be “the next big thing.” As we leave, the staff are already resetting tables, the last few diners lingering over coffee. The windows glow against the cool North London night and the street outside feels, for a moment, like somewhere in Italy. You step out stuffed – but more than that, content. And in a city where contentment is often the hardest thing to come by, that’s something to hold onto.
Photography courtesy of Trullo.
trullorestaurant.com
Dining and Cooking