So near and yet so far. You know that thing where in New York people say you turn a corner and you’re in a completely different neighbourhood? I had that yesterday. Poynton is a mere 15 minutes in a car from where I live in Marple, and yet at 7.30 on a Friday night Poynton’s main stretch could be Beech Road in Chorlton.
As locals know, the pedestrianised main street has lots of eating and hairdressing outlets, some real ale bars, and a Waitrose. And although it jumps on a weekend, I don’t go out there because the food is a bit pedestrian.
The Social has broken with that tradition. This self-styled ‘authentic yet stylish trattoria‘ has a modern interior which, on a Friday evening, was full of what appeared to be hen parties. My companion, who doubles as my accountant, tells me that this is the norm round here. The menu is short, consisting of nibbles, starters, pasta, pizza, sea bass and saltimbocca. The kitchen delivers.
We started with two slices of focaccia which came with a flavoured butter that didn’t add anything. Rather odd, I thought. I wouldn’t normally choose focaccia as a vehicle for a flavoured butter, but hey-ho. Was this a sign? No, it wasn’t. The Sicilian-style arancini, unctuous and oozing cheese, leek and ham, were big enough to share, as was the lamb shoulder croquette on a bed of bagna càuda with n’duja dressing. They were delicious. These two are worth going back for.
Mains were pasta served in large bowls. I had The Social Ragu, cooked-down beef shin, pork shoulder and tomatoes mixed with gnocchetti sardi (little shells) which tasted exactly as you’d expect, and had the overall texture of a stew without the relief of a separate texture of pasta. It was a little monotonous, but very filling.
The accountant had the garretto di prosciutto – pulled ham hock, peas, pine nuts and spring greens with the same gnocchetti sardi pasta in a chicken stock base. It was more like a soup than a stew, but the ham came through and the peas and pine nuts in the stock gave texture and other flavours, so it was interesting as well as filling.
There was a short list of puddings, but we were stuffed so we shared an affogato, which was the only real disappointment. The vanilla gelato had no taste, just texture, so it didn’t bounce off the coffee and amaretto (which you add yourself).
From a short, good-value list we drank a very good bottle of Finger Post classic Marlborough sauvignon blanc at £30. 
I noticed the pizzas coming out of the kitchen looked classically Neapolitan with the charred edge, so I had a look at their oven. The holy grail of pizza oven manufacturers has been to find a way of cooking Neapolitan-style pizza in an electric oven, obviating the need for venting smoke or an industrial gas supply. And lo, they have one. It’s an oven I have never seen before, brought over from Italy, and Olly, the pizzaiolo in charge, clearly knows his stuff, having been trained by Woodstock Pizza in Marple, no less.
I will be back. In fact, if I lived here, I’d go back all the time.
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