DAVE and Jean have been banging on about Caruso’s in Stockton for what seems like years.

Saturday lunchtime regulars at Santoro in Yarm – our favourite Italian hereabouts – the couple have consistently urged us to give the long-established favourite a try. They go there every Friday night which means they must eat out more often than we do. Given their sylph-like figures that’s some achievement.

“Don’t be misled by the exterior,” Dave would say. “It doesn’t look much from the outside but the food’s excellent.”

He’s not wrong about the outside. Varo Terrace, just north of Stockton town centre, if we were being kind about it, has seen better days – about 50 years ago probably.

Inside Caruso’s, things are only marginally better. This is how all Italian restaurants in Britain once looked. The only thing missing from the period piece was raffia-covered Chianti bottles serving as candle holders. Dog-eared and tired, it was probably the height of sophistication in 1977.

But you can ignore all the above and dismiss it as smart-arse tosh because the good folk of Stockton absolutely love this place. The Saturday night we called the place was jumping. There had been a big party in early doors and even when they left the relatively cramped dining area seemed busy. We understand it is like this most nights so Caruso’s is not just being sustained by Dave and Jean.

A major contribution to the cacophonic atmosphere was the muzak. When we arrived the speaker above our head was belting out opera (Okay, it is called Caruso’s so fair enough) and then ran through a medley of favourites from Dean Martin (That’s Amore), Perry Como and Engelbert Humperdinck (A Man Without Love – so good we heard that one twice). It added to the feeling that we had slipped through a gap in the space-time continuum.

Presiding over it all was owner Rocco who clearly is the heart and soul of the place. A little man with a baseball cap, he flitted from table to table, waiting on but mostly enquiring in a heavy Italian accent (imagine Marlon Brando at 78 rpm) if everything was alright, whether more chips were required (diners at Caruso’s seem to like their chips) and engaging in chit-chat with regulars which many diners appeared to be.

The Caruso menu is, fittingly, a period piece dominated by standard pizzas and pastas, steaks and chicken dishes plus six “Parmesans” – variations of the (in)famous Teesside Parmo.

From the hot starters Sylvia selected the gamberoni all aglio (£6.95) – four king prawns in a garlic and white wine sauce. Their size fully justified the king status and the sauce was powerfully garlicky to the exclusion of anything else; Sylvia suspected they had been frozen.

My melanzane parmigiana (£4.95) – layers of aubergine with mozzarella and Parmesan cheese - was really too big for a starter. Again a single flavour, Parmesan cheese here, dominated the dish. It was filling but that’s all really.

It certainly wasn’t the starter to choose before the Caruso Parmesan (£11.45) of which I barely managed to eat a third. God knows why I chose this because I’ve never really understood why anyone would want to batter a chicken breast into submission, coat it in breadcrumbs, deep fry it and then slather it in a cheese sauce – unless, of course, you have just downed eight pints in Club Bongo International and are staggering home along Linthorpe Road and wondering what to do about a bad case of the munchies.

The Caruso Parmesan – the house speciality I guess – was made different by the additional of ham and pepperoni, a sort of meat feast overload designed to send cholesterol levels through the roof - or maybe to eat when you have had ten pints.

It came with chips (good ‘uns it should be said) and the sort of desultory little salad that restaurants serve when they know they are not going to be eaten.

Sylvia’s chicken cacciatore (£11.95) was altogether more successful, a tender chicken breast served with a simple garlic and cream sauce supplemented with mushrooms, onions, peppers, tomato and olives. It came with some well cooked and finished broccoli, carrots and sautéed potatoes.

We waited a while for my zabaglione which was perfectly OK because it cannot be prepared in advance but what finally arrived was thin and uninspiring. The custard wasn’t remotely set and while some Italians would drink this classic dessert, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the intention here.

With the glorious exception of Rocco, service was either broodingly sullen or pretty (and) vacant.

Our drinks were poor – the flattest of flat diet Cokes for Sylvia and a barely chilled glass of house white for me. Most people seemed to be drinking bottled beer so perhaps that was a sign.

Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to brave the ladies’ toilet; the gents’ seemed to be in state of partial construction and the industrial quantities of triple-strength disinfectant handwash on display was a bit alarming.

But it was cheap and we weren’t there for the happy hour offer either. While not quite 1977 prices, £44.30 is hardly expensive.

FOOD FACTS

Caruso
5 Varo Terrace, Stockton on Tees TS18 1JY
Tel: 01642 633133
No website (the web wasn’t invented until 1991)
Open: noon-3pm, 6-11pm seven days
Disabled access

Ratings (out of ten) Food quality 6 Service 7 Surroundings 5 Value 8