Osteria Angelina, London E1: ‘There’s a lot to adore’ – restaurant review | Grace Dent on restaurants

One undeniable fact about Angelina, which has just opened a second site in Spitalfields, east London, is that in the now mini-group’s relatively short existence, they’ve singlehandedly made the phrase “Italian-Japanese restaurant” seem a much more normal thing to say. Patently, Angelina Mark 1 over in Dalston was not the first time in culinary history that Milan met Tokyo over the stoves, that miso met pasta, that truffle met sushi, and so on; hungry people have always travelled, merged cuisines and messed about with flavours. Still, the original Angelina’s kaiseki-style tasting menu, where chawanmushi (savoury egg custard) is served with datterini tomatoes, and pastas are topped with furikake, was clearly interesting enough to attract the attention of Michelin.

Its new sister, Osteria Angelina, is darkly chic, spacious (handy for group dining) and tucked away down a side road on the Norton Folgate development close to Shoreditch overground station (fans of the Sri Lankan restaurant Kolomba on Kingly Street near Oxford Circus will find a second outpost, Kolomba East, in the same area, and Noisy Oyster, from the people behind Firebird, will soon be joining them). To give credit where its due, Norton Folgate is a refreshingly beautiful restoration project, where spruced-up Edwardian, Georgian and Victorian buildings mix with new-builds to create a little slice of sedate elegance away from the bottomless brunch, Box Park hellscape that is modern Shoreditch. Escape the main drag, hop into Osteria Angelina, sit up at the marble bar in front of the open kitchen and order snacks of pizza nera topped with moromi, a rich fermented soy paste, or a salad of zucchini and shiso leaves with ricotta.

From the number of people eating here just two weeks after it opened, this cultural clash clearly has its fans. What Osteria Angelina’s Japanese customers, with their relatively orderly rules of social conduct and deference, make of the place’s excessively animated Italian servers, however, is one for the anthropology books. All this, I guess, is smoothed over by the likes of the nori-topped focaccia and the small, sweet mini-loaf of Hokkaido milk bread, the very memory of which has me salivating; that’s served with a kumquat reduction – OK, let’s call it jam – and a puddle of burnt honey butter.

After the pane and insalate sections, the menu moves on to fritti and crudo. We ordered a plate of hot-as-hell tempura’d courgette flowers stuffed generously with miso ricotta. Crudo is so often a disappointment, but here the bream is cured in kombu and doused in yet more burnt butter, making it rather wickedly appealing. Hamachi sashimi was also very good, and smothered in truffled soy and furikake.