Marmo occupies a fun space in my mind of a place I keep going back to, but at a much lower cadence than e.g. BOX-E or any of the Bianchis group joints. Always a pleasure, but never a routine. This year’s occasion is Ruth moving back to Bristol and having Luc in tow, so I bite my tongue on the insatiable urge to ask him his prospects and his intentions and have a lovely time getting to meet him. Dinner is, as ever, a sensation of small plates. But first, Hayley is here and unsurprised that I’m ordering a bottle of Riesling for the table. A classic array of snacks to start - the sourdough served with a delicious golden butter, with a bowl of salt to season to taste (generously, all round); sadly no olives (Luc and Ruth being phillistines), but anchovies, drenched in oil but still dry when eaten; a burrata with a fennel pollen, oozing as it’s torn apart. Marmo is the only place other than Rezdora that I’ve seen serve gnoccho fritti, so I implore Ruth and Luc to treat themselves and they don’t regret it. The steak tartare - two portions between three of us, acts as something of a starter, beautifully seasoned with a little kick, a generous egg yolk moistening and binding it together. We share a couple of mains, a gorgeous tagliatelle of tomato and girolles, festooned with parmesan shavings, and a beautifully tender piece of hake with butter beans, mussels, and a most delicious cream sauce. But. But but but. The main event for me, personally, at Marmo is the dessert, specifically in the form of their chocolate mousse - my Off Menu dessert if I were ever lucky enough to be asked. The whipped cream is like no other, acting as both solid and liquid. I have no better way of describing its form. The mousse itself rich, densely chocolatey but light and fluffy as anything. I could devour ten of them. One day I just might. But for now, we have to high tail it back to North Street to meet Alasdair and introduce these two to Spirited.