How do you know which Johannesburg businesses did well this year? Go to the city’s fanciest restaurants round about now and see who has their Christmas parties there.
A week or so ago, I was invited to an early lunch at such an upmarket establishment — the spacious, month-old Italian restaurant called Sinn in Sandton. Black, grey and red colour scheme, golden lights low, plush black leather and dark wood furniture, with a panoramic vista over Sandton’s my-brash-capitalist-glass-cathedral-is-bigger-than-yours landscape but a better view is towards the luxurious open-plan kitchen.
From that kitchen, I have just been served freshly baked sourdough bread and homemade butter by the wonderfully attentive waiter who, like all the staff, is dressed in black with fancy black-and-red sneakers.
In the centre of the kitchen is the maestro chef Enrico Persegani, not performative like Gordon “Fucking” Ramsey, but more a low-key conductor making sure his relatively new orchestra in the kitchen, on the floor and behind the two bars don’t play a sour note to the fast filling restaurant.
There are several big tables of giggling people who will for a change make their bosses pay, big time. And hope the expensive booze doesn’t mean Monday morning is spent with HR issues about vaguely remembered misdemeanours with Clive from IT.
I am not a big fan of food fusions — I remember a place in Pretoria where they served boerewors pizza. I bet it is still going strong but that moer-on-top style is not for me, dankie.
Sinn is doing a bit of the fusion thing too — but promises it is in a subtle, playful way, sticking firmly to classic Italian tradition. Put differently, it is finding harmony between Italian tradition and innovation. And luckily not too much of the Boetie-goes-to-Rome thing on the menu.
So, despite my fusion scepticism I decided, ‘Why not go for the biltong arancino?’ — Italian rice balls stuffed with mozzarella and creamy dry wors, coated with pangrattato (crispy breadcrumbs), served with smoked tomato sauce.
Beautifully presented, it was scrumptious. As I resisted licking the plate, the charming Persegani joined me for a quick chat before the 1pm proper stampede started — because then, as he says with a smile, “This place is going to explode.”
Originally from the Italian city of Cremona, he first visited South Africa last year, as part of his job opening restaurants all over the world. After experiencing the richness of our food culture, Persegani officially relocated in May to start Sinn.
The dishes are inspired by childhood memories of meals prepared by his 93-year-old grandmother.
I confess that his type of fusion — well, based on my starter — works very well.
He explains his approach: “You know, why not take, for example, my grandmother’s recipes, twist them, redesign them, make them a little bit more modern and test them on the market?” he says.
“Then, obviously, in Italy we have salami, right? Before coming here I didn’t know about biltong.”
I gather that he includes dry wors under the biltong umbrella.
“So, I see everyone with this biltong going around, everyone crazy with biltong — it’s basically a mini dry salami. And I couldn’t find amazing quality salami here like in Italy.
“I was, like, at this point, I would rather swap it with something more local that people love and twist it inside my recipe.”
In addition to the fusion elements, Persegani designed his menu by looking at the map of Italy: “Five recipes from the north, five from the middle, Rome area and five from the south.
“And then I work on that. Then I thought, ‘People here are crazy for meat, okay — braai and all this kind of tradition.”
He pauses and chuckles.
“But now that the restaurant is open I realise that they look more for seafood because you guys don’t have sea nearby so everyone goes crazy for seafood. Now I’m already preparing the next menu with instead of more meat, more seafood.”
On the menu is a pasta dish based on a family recipe: Nonna’s butternut and ginger ravioli. It was inspired by his grandmother’s cooking. I ask him what she thinks about her grandson’s latest venture.
“Oh, she’s very proud. I grew up staying with her so obviously we were cooking together and, in Italy, usually the grandmother stays at home and cooks for all the other family members.
“We have a big 14-seater table and we all sit there and my grandmother prepares dinner and lunch. That’s how the passion started and that’s how I learned from a very young age.”
At one of the bars, someone drops a glass. Persegani flinches slightly.
“Do you ever think, ‘What the fuck am I doing?’” I ask.
“Oh my God, every day. I already knew it was hard,” he says.
“Obviously, a new country, new way of managing the business. Different people, different approaches. Obviously, I had more to learn and in a very fast way.”
He is philosophical.
“You will never be successful if you don’t suffer first. And the restaurant business is something where you need to sacrifice everything. Your life, your free time, your private life, everything. There’s no life. I’m here all day. Every day.”
Meanwhile the Sinn machine purrs on smoothly. But I realise the conductor has to get back to his kitchen.
“What should I order as a main?,” I ask before he goes.
“Osso buco hotpot,” he says without hesitation.
This braised beef dish is slow-cooked overnight, Persegani says, so it is “super soft”.
“There’s still the bone and the marrow inside. Then everything gets assembled and then reheated in the wood fire oven.”
It is served on a Parmesan risotto.
Not too long after my waiter opens the hotpot with a dramatic flourish.
The dish was perfect, melt-in-the-mouth deliciousness. My mouth is watering again, just typing this.
