MARION SAUVEBOIS dines Italian and fears the bigotry of a few could hinder some of life’s pleasures

"BETTER enjoy it while it lasts!" chirped my partner fighting off my fork, beating me with sheer brute force to the last of Casa Paolo's moreish crespolini. "It'll be slim pickings post-Brexit..."

It may have been a throwaway comment, a harmless wisecrack, but as the sobering prospect sank in, I was overcome with 'last supper' gloom.

Nightmare scenarios of the looming foodageddon rushed through my mind as I scraped the last crisp specks of ricotta off the plate. Would we be doomed to Italian à la Brit? A convincing but subpar approximation of the real thing? All the good cucine boarded up, their talented chefs driven off by lynch mobs of Brexiteers - who failed to vote with their heads, let alone their stomachs when they cast their ballots.

This goes of course for any European cuisine. But given the surfeit of Italian eateries in Swindon - the majority of them headed by proud nationals - I imagine the exodus of trattoria owners, should Brexit descend further into the witch-hunt it has sadly sparked, would be felt far more strongly.

Funnily enough, until recently a European restaurant run by an honest-to-goodness 'expat' was trumpeted as a reassuring sign of authenticity and quality. Now, apparently, it's only another way for 'migrants' to steal good salt-of-the-earth Brits' jobs. But back to Casa Paolo.

Walking into the Purton ristorante is like stepping into a time-warp, with its kitsch 1980s feel; just like the no-fuss eateries of my childhood. And it is steeped in family tradition, anchored deep in the flavours of Northern Italy. The owner, whose parents emigrated to England where they wined and dined punters on his nonna's recipes for 46 years in Soho, has now picked up the mantle and inject a little "Latin passion" into the Wiltshire countryside courtesy of nonna's thorough tutelage.

And from the exposed brick, hard-wood tables and dessert trolley (of yes!) to the retro kitchenware - down to the placemats and engraved embellishments on the fork's brass handles - it exudes nostalgia, and harks back to more tolerant times when people didn't bandy around the word 'foreigner' as some once did 'leper'.

Blood boiling at the thought of yet one of my inalienable rights being ripped from me (potentially) by the blighted Brexit, namely gorging on legit Italian fare to my heart's content, I tried to contemplate a world without Casa Paolo - and its fluffy house speciality, crespolini - coiled ricotta-stuffed pancakes slathered in mozzarella.

Possibly for the time in my life, the sight of veal escalopes al Marsala (£12.95) - which our upbeat waiter deposited in front of me with a flourish - failed to cheer me up. Clearly puzzled by the sudden drop in the early enthusiasm elicited by the pancakes and smooth knobs of homemade pate ( £15.45 for both starters) a few moments ago, he cranked up the charm, livening up the mood with a little banter and a jaunty 'Enjoy' before skipping back to the kitchen.

Never too concerned about anything beyond the immediate future, my partner dug in voraciously into his lasagna alla Bolognese (£9.95), only looking up to rate the dish "even better" than his favourite tratorria's in his native Scotland (run incidentally by an eccentric Sicilian clan).

At the first bite of my oh-so-tender Marsala-drenched escalopes I perked up slightly; the sweet almond wine probably taking the edge off a tad. I let myself relish every morsel, storing the sensory memory for the dark years ahead - batting off distressing images of my yet-unborn children staring desolately at Britalian's finest Buckfast-soaked chicken breasts, wondering where it all went wrong.

True to Italian form, with its hedonistic primo and secondo - first and second courses - philosophy and the Gargantuan portions to match, Casa Paolo does not do small. And I must admit, midway through my third escalope I was beginning to flag. But I soldiered on, determined to heed my partner's wise advice to enjoy the time-honoured classic while it lasted.

In the spirit of hoarding tales of the good old days of multiculturalism for the grandkids, we gave in to the indulgent (and heavily loaded) dessert trolley, strategically positioned to tempt diners from every corner of the dining room; the lure of chocolate profiteroles steadily whittling away their willpower.

But the trolley only barely scratched the surface of dear Paolo's bounty. Our waiter had to catch his breath as he reeled off the catalogue of panna cotta, chocolate cake and home-made ice-cream secreted away in the kitchen. Opting for a palate cleanser, my partner ordered the lemon sorbet. Ready for a dessert worthy of the name, it was mango sorbet panna cotta for me. The light and creamy texture, melted in the mouth just like a chilled sorbet. The balance of sweetness and intense zing was divine.

Our romantic tete-a-tete turned political rallying cry at Casa Paolo was needless to say a bittersweet experience: a reminder that the bigotry of a few could trample not only people’s fundamental rights but hinder life’s simple pleasures, down to what and where we choose to eat. And if the price hike of imported produce is anything to go by, it's already happening.

Let us hope that when push comes to shove, restaurateurs won't feel compelled to defect back to the continent and leave us all so much worse off for it.

Casa Paolo

Common Platt, Purton, SN5 5JX

01793 772027

www.casapaolo.co.uk

Parking: yes

Disabled access: yes

Food: 8.5/10

Choice: 8/10

Décor: 8/10

Customer service: 10/10

Main course prices: from £7.95 to £15.50

TripAdvisor rating: 4.5/5