Never mind cabbage soup or grapefruit.
One of the more esoteric weight loss plans of the Seventies was The Sexy Pineapple Diet by Inge and Sten Hegeler.
It involved swapping regular food two days a week for pineapple, in return for a slimmer waist and a yeah baby mojo like Austin Powers.
Then thereโs the sleeping beauty diet, which was first referenced in Jacqueline Susannโs 1966 book Valley of the Dolls and involves being sedated for 20 hours a day to avoid temptation.
Anyway, now that weโve stopped partying, snacking, drinking and singing a clunkier version of Princeโs 1999, itโs time to get on the 2020 wagon.
I wouldnโt recommend the above, or the more modern keto and primal diets, but everyone seems to agree on the Mediterranean.
Thus, I am on en route to this new Italian restaurant, in the shadow of that โhouse on the hillโ (as I once heard a tourist call it).
Itโs in the former premises of longterm resident Il Castello and is owned by Ilaria Torre and Fabrizio Babbucci, who were working the front of house on our visit.
Itโs completely dead inside, so we get the pick of the tables, and choose something on the mezzanine, beside a radiator, as if we were cats.
To suit the land and sea theme, the walls are cobalt and covered in hexagon-shaped photographs of bucolic scenes. Itโs nice, so Iโll let them off with the Katie Melua on the stereo (not the trillion bicycles in Beijing song, thankfully).
After weโve scoffed some gratis fat green olives and bread, and had an icy negroni (ยฃ8), our starter of vellutata di fagioli (ยฃ6.50) arrives. This thick and olive oil drizzled black-eyed bean veloute smells nutty.
Itโs smooth, creamy and substantial and thereโs a frilly cuff of roasted kale on the top. Weโre not sure where the billed crispy pigโs cheek is though. We guddle about with the spoon and think about a loony dook, but there are no solid or crispy bits of meat.
No matter, itโs still lush.
Iโve gone for the lighter option of capesante (ยฃ12). There are four halves of scallop, like waning gibbous moons, all piled on top of a tangy aubergine caponata, which is studded with loads of pine nuts. In the middle, like a magicianโs guillotine, thereโs a lacy sail of crispy Parmesan.
From the Mains Terra section, we try their earthy homemade trofie (ยฃ11). Served on a long plate, like a trough, this is a huge plateful, with butter yellow twists, which resemble drill bits, and porky crumbles of sausage, bitter clods of romanesco broccoli and a creamy sauce thatโs scented with saffron.
Order the soup and this pasta dish, and you wonโt have to eat for the rest of the week, potentially a fortnight. You wonโt have to wear a jacket either, because your internal combustion engine will be well fuelled.
When it came to the Mains Marique section dish of baccala (ยฃ21), I was expecting something different. Rather than salted fish, I had an ordinary bit of cod โ a huge silky piece, with a celeriac cream and herby soft braised lentils. There was none of the billed nduja mousse, but probably four would have been a crowd anyway.
Thereโs a short dessert menu featuring tiramisu (ยฃ5.50) and whatnot.
Since weโre both on a diet, we went for the three scoops of their ice-cream (ยฃ6.50), made in-house, and a panna-cotta (ยฃ5.50).
The gelato was rather nice, with a scoop of apple cinnamon, another
of espresso and praline, and the third boring old vanilla, which Iโd only ordered because my dining partner had insisted, even though he was soup and pasta-ed up to the rafters.
He let it melt, and only managed half of his pudding, which was topped with flaked almonds, orange syrup and a flurry of icing sugar.
After all that, I think the only thing that will stop our pot bellies from getting any pottier is the sedation option.
Only problem is, Iโm pretty sure weโll end up sleep-walking to Terra Marique for more of that trofie.
