As we drive through the Sardinian countryside, we are greeted by a glorious array of wildflowers: coastal daisies and succulent, hot pink karkalla (ignominiously known as ‘pigface’) are draped in profusion over rocks and stone walls; buttercups and poppies dance among the tall meadow grasses; wild lavender and gorse litter the verges; pompoms of bright yellow wattle, oleander, fig trees, prickly pear and unusually lush eucalypti merge into thick hedgerows along the roadside, occasionally nudging one another aside to allow a glimpse of the crystal clear ocean, the colour of lapis lazuli or peacock feathers. Huge granite rock formations, dome shaped nuraghi, round coastal defence towers, a hillside village painted in pistachio, saffron, terracotta and pink… there is something colourful to catch the eye around every twist in the road.
Yet the Sardinians (or Sardines as our friend David has nicknamed them) seem disinterested in views. It is rare to find a strategically placed coffee shop or restaurant. Outside every café, tables litter the pavements, but these more often face out onto a carpark, a wall or a main road rather than a beach, lagoon or pretty garden.
Castelsardo, for example, is a beautiful mediaeval town on the north coast, high above the sea and fortified by thick walls and seventeen towers, its higgledy-piggledy houses secreted behind high sandstone walls that loom over the modern town below. From the castle walls, the views are breath-taking, looking out over the bay or across the sea towards Corsica.
As we wander the cobbled lanes, a plethora of cafés and restaurants tempt us to perch at their pocket-sized tables, balanced precariously on the cobbles, on stone staircases, or in the doorways of hobbit-sized bars. Yet most of these watering holes are halfway up a narrow, shaded alley, or squeezed into a miniscule plaza in a tight nook between a twenty foot wall and a church. Only a handful take advantage of the sea views. However, as we stand on a paved terrace looking out to sea, a chilly, boisterous breeze whips up and threatens to dislodge us. Suddenly, it is easy to see why locals prefer to duck down a side street, to avoid being blown away like Mary Poppins by an exuberant squall from the Dolomites… the Alps… the Artic?
Our dinner in Porto San Paulo proves a rare exception to the rule. On the east coast, just south of Olbia, Ristorante Il Porto Lano is perfectly positioned out of the wind and above the sand, looking directly across to Isola Tavolara. This huge granite island rises out of the sea like a Spinosaurus, a giant sea turtle, or a marine version of Ayers Rock, depending on the angle.
Il Porto Lano has been around for over 20 years, and it has rated more than one mention in the Michelin Guide. We soon learn why. It is owned by local restaurateur Roberto Chelo Schletti and his Swiss wife, Claudia, who welcomes us warmly and ushers us out to the terrace for a glass of wine. The sommelier is more than happy to spend time explaining the pivotal wine varieties of the region: white Vermentino and red Cannonau di Sardegna. We start with “Sienda”, a Vermentino di Gallura from Mura, a winery literally just down the road. Gallura is the region; this north-eastern end of Sardinia, where grapes have been cultivated since the fourteenth century. “Sienda” means treasure. And it is.
The vineyards in Sardinia, lying between the sea and the hills, remind us of our own McLaren Vale. It is hardly surprising, then, that South Australian wineries such as Mitolo’s, Fox Creek and Challk Hill, have picked up the option to grow Vermentino there. However, our sommelier is not best pleased to learn we are stealing away with traditional Gallura grapes that, he is proud to inform us, make some of the best Vermentinos in the world. In fact, we have been tasting a lot of them since we arrived in Sardinia, and I am convinced. Vermentino has proved to be the perfect compromise between my favourite – Chardonnay – and the One and Only’s penchant for dry, crisp Rieslings.
The sea laps gently at the sand as we sip our wine and nibble on enormous green olives, and a variety of breads dipped in a heavenly olive oil. Slowly, the sun sets over the hills, turning the magnificent grey Tavolara rock a stunning shade of salmon pink. It is our final treat after a relaxing week on the east coast.
But, without further delay or ado, let’s move inside and order some food.
Of course, we are here on an island, and right beside the sea, so fish takes pride of place on the menu. But Sardinia is also renowned for its lamb – there are more sheep than people on this Mediterranean isle, apparently. Sardinia also has some unique pastas that we have been exploring over the past ten days. Fregola, for example, which means breadcrumbs, but is actually a typical Sardinian pasta made of semolina and rolled into small balls, perfect with seafood. Then there is Malloreddus alla Campidanese, Gnocchetti and my favourite, Culurgiones. This last is a cross between ravioli and gnocchi – a pasta shaped like an ear of wheat and stuffed with potato, cheese and mint, then topped with fresh tomato sauce. Of course, every region has its own variation, so we have had to try a lot of it. Other popular ingredients in Sardinia include saffron, artichokes, bottarga (a fish roe) and octopus, but not necessarily in the same dish.
However, the One and Only chooses an appetizer that manages to include most of them: an octopus salad with artichokes and bottarga. Very fishy and delicious! My choice is tuna tartar with green chicory and strawberry coulis. It is a colourful selection, perhaps due more to availability than an ideal taste combination, as the strawberry coulis somewhat defeats the fresh but mild flavour of the tuna, and the coulis might, perhaps, have received a better response from a bowl of ice-cream. But the highlight of this round is definitely the prawns in crosta de pane carasau – a crispy flatbread crepe wrapped around a giant prawn and deep fried, forming an Italian variation on the spring roll. It is perfection.
We all succumb to the primi piatti. Our only problem is having to choose from multiple variations of delectable pasta dishes. I bow out of another round of seafood by choosing maccarrones de punzu with a lamb Bolognese. Simple and tasty, I am fascinated by the shape of these unusual macaroni that look like small witchetty grubs. The One & Only selects spaghetti with red prawns, asparagus and crispy taralli crumbs. Taralli, we discover, are kind-of-crackers, similar in texture to a breadstick, but twisted into a loose ring, sort of like half a pretzel, or a careless donut. Then crunched. Taste and texture combine to make an irresistible mouthful. Our friend chooses a local speciality: a bowl of simple but delicious cod fish ravioli, served with mussels and a pea velouté.
For the main course, Claudia suggests we share the crusted sea bass. Subsequently, a huge fish arrives in a thick coffin of sea salt. Our waiter ceremoniously cracks open the casing and debones the sea bass, before serving it up with roast potatoes and grilled zucchini. We have also ordered a side serving of steamed artichokes with celery purée and lentils. Well, who can say no to carciofi in season? Each mouthful sings, the salt somehow highlighting the flavour of the fish like a choirboy’s descant. I cannot speak for joy.
The lads somehow find room for dessert, but I am done… although, as it turns out, there is just enough space to steal a mouthful or two of the One & Only’s Orange sorbet laced with Campari. And perhaps a teaspoon of the Amaretto bavarese with raspberry sauce and crumble? This resembles an almond flavoured panna cotta and is so light and smooth, well, who could resist? Luckily my companions are kind and generous, and prepared to share. Then there is just enough energy between us to stagger to the car and drive home through the moonlight…