Have you ever found yourself coveting those film scenes in which the powerful—lawyers with titanium spines, bankers who dine on interest, celebrities trailed by their own reflections—eat beneath a vast, obliging sky? Gardens surround them; staircases swerve; perfumed air moves through citrus trees. At Le Jardin, within the Hotel de Russie, the fantasy has a Roman address. Painted parrots flash improbable colours; butterflies trace looping paths overhead; leafy trees stand alongside mandarins and lemons, arranged with the formality of a family portrait. Recently reopened, the restaurant has been reimagined by Italian artist Gio Bressana, who has transformed Giuseppe Valadier’s nineteenth-century giardini d’inverno into an exuberant garden of colour, foliage and old-world fantasy.
My husband and I had booked an apartment in central Rome, and the leisurely twenty-five-minute walk to the restaurant took us through streets still thrumming with life: locals hurrying home from work, tourists dawdling beneath the evening chill, the scent of chestnuts roasting at every corner. At eight degrees, Rome had acquired that particular bite of winter. Inside the hotel, the city gave way to another kind of Rome. The lobby, furnished with sculpture, paintings, generous sofas and carefully placed objects, had the air of an Italian political household’s grand living room—cultured, slightly theatrical, and designed for lingering.
The climb up a palatial staircase brought us to Aquazzura Bar, designed by Edgardo Osorio in marine-blue tiles painted with lemons. Potted trees, trellised foliage and striped parasols framed the space. My husband ordered a mezcal Negroni by Federico Pavan and Matteo Capezzuoli, its rim dusted with paprika, while we turned to Chef Fulvio Pierangelini’s tapas: potato cubes crowned with caviar and yoghurt; corn-and-shrimp tacos finished with almonds; olives, improbably large and almost theatrical.
The Aquazzura Bar. Image credit: Le Jardin
The chill crept in, and we retreated to the dining room for dinner. Crystal chandeliers cast their glow over white tablecloths, while painted creepers climbed the pillars, leaf by ornamental leaf. Through the tall windows, the garden remained in view—muted now by the evening, hovering at the edge of the room as we moved from one course to the next. Personal butlers crossed between the tables with the precision of choreography, silver cutlery catching the light as they went.
Indoor dining. Image credits: Le Jardin de Russie
Avocado, Pear and Scallop Salad; Red Mazara Prawns tangled with broad beans; and Octopus Pasta with potatoes and friggitelli. Then came the mains: beef chop with agretti; sea bass from the grill, with lemon and rosemary doing their reliable work; anglerfish laid between raw salami and a bed of leaves; and Tomato and Basil Pasta. Then, finally, the evening slipped off its last mask: Ricotta and Strawberry Millefeuille, followed, of course, by coffee.
