Sunday in Nova (Nova)

Restaurant: Nova

I get up from the table full of vital force and optimism, which I definitely wanted to find here.

It is hard to have a better time and weather for deliciously lazy meal out in town than a Sunday afternoon in July. One can forget all worries of the past week, regenerate some of the vital forces and optimism that help to go through the next. Today I know exactly what I need, which does not happen to me so often. I need a nicely shaded terrace with a view onto a sun-bathed street full of people, walking slowly because, why hurry in summer. Add some soft music in the background, and in front of me one plate after another of tasty food, soaked with smells and colours of summer. In search of that all, I walk to Estera street, and the restaurant is called Nova.

There is a terrace in a small street, but the loudspeakers produce some annoying "ziiiiiiiii"... that's the Formula 1 transmission. Someone does not seem to understand what savouring a meal entails.

I start from a fruit prosecco, advertised by the menu as "chilled sparkling wine with peach and strawberry cream". It is indeed an excellent aperif. The strawberry prosecco is drier, the one made of peaches, in turn, is softer and sweeter. Both are joy for the eye, filled with colour, with bubbles delicately tickling the palette. It is appetising, and the buzz relaxes me... "Ziiiiiiiii".... Oh, that was Kubica.

Soup comes next. A classical Polish cold soup of beetroots, with an egg and young potatoes. "Classical" is a good word here - it has a beautiful milky-beetroot colour, it is well seasoned, and properly cooled. The broccoli cream with almonds is not as good though. While the soft green looks nice, and the crispy slices of almonds offer an interesting contrast to the velvet and smooth soup, the taste is empty, without character, and boring "Ziiiiiiii".... Heidfeld is right behind him.

As the main course comes the grilled chicken with mozzarella and baked potatoes. And that is indeed the moment of the culinary fulfilment, the culinary completion of that perfect Sunday. A feast of colours on the plate, as the chicken is accompanied, apart from the potatoes (lovely balls, each one edible as whole), by colourful vegetables. The taste is light, unpretentious, Italian. The meat is very soft and juicy, subtlely emphasised by mozzarella. But why is this treat powdered with dull dry herbs?

Everything would be just fine. Even the unbearable "ziiiiii" has stopped, not because the management of the place figured it out at last, but because the race had finished. Nice romantic music started instead. But the cruel fortune selected me on that afternoon for the punishment of my sin of haughtiness. Yes, I admit, for a long time I have been one of those despising any complaint about spicy food. Squeamish they are, I thought about those do not like it, they don

Gabriela

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Author: Gabriela

Usually hungry. Doing what she likes, and liking what she does. Taste should be harmonious, with right proportions and intuition.

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