Let's start, for a change, with the pasta. Strozzapretti all'amatriciana, that legend from Lazio: crisp, throatily smoky guanciale in a tomato sauce of such spectacular depth and intensity that it stops our conversation dead. One moment, we're deep in the usual scurrilous restaurant gossip. The next, struck dumb, sitting in a sort of startled, delighted silence. We look at each other and grin. It really is magnificent, with lashings of olive oil, a blizzard of pecorino and pert, fresh-made tubes of pasta. But that's not all: this is just one of many dishes that makes lunch at Burro, the new place from Trullo's Conor Gadd, such an utter delight.
Hidden away on a Covent Garden backstreet, on the site that was once Petersham Nurseries, the room is breezily bright, with high ceilings and a good space between tables. It's all very cool, calm and, well, civilised. Service is exceptional, neither distant nor overbearing; rather warm and thoroughly on the ball.
But back to the beginning, and deep-fried slivers of artichoke, covered in an orange dusting of grated bottarga. A genius idea: the dried, cured mullet roe adding a gentle saline sweetness, a sort of exalted crisp. For those after something more visceral, chicken livers, done in the Venetian style (ie with lots of slow-cooked onions), are piled high on toast, rich as a Doge and mildly menacing. Then anchovies, five perfect fillets, served with crisp crostini and two slabs of butter, cold and pale yellow.
There's more pasta too, spirals of busiate with a rocket and basil pesto, verdantly vibrant, all spring vim and sap rising. Green beans add soft snap, and the whole dish has a primal, heady joy. Mains are every bit as assured: a piece of brill so transcendentally fresh, sweet and firm that we suspect some form of kitchen trickery. But no, it's just a splendid piece of fish, splendidly cooked. Crab aqua pazza (or 'crazy water') contains the essence of Southern Italy: a pristine pile of white crab meat sitting atop a limpid tomato broth with the merriest of seaside swaggers. There are fat mussels and fistfuls of basil and parsley, and a generosity - of both seasoning and spirit - that typifies every dish we eat.
'I think the long lunch is a thing of the past,' says Giles as we finish our second bottle of crisp Pecorino. 'This is just a lovely lunch.' I totally agree. A few hours spent with an old friend is always a fine thing. But made all the more memorable when the cooking is this excellent.
London has an abundance of Italian restaurants, but very few that are actually any good. Burro is up there with the best.
About £40 per head. Burro, 2 Floral Court, London WC2; trattoriaburro.com