The room was the first disappointment. It was smart, but really quite large. So when after a little walk we finally arrived at our little table in the back, I was not pleased. It felt like being in a chicken roost, all lined up, and being filled with people in twos. Yes, that’s somewhat usual now in London, sitting on each other's laps, but not what I was expecting here. Even three people explaining the home-baked grissini to me isn’t going to make me feel good when I have no space to negotiate the amply filled bread basket.
The lobster linguine I had as a starter was OK, but really not exciting, and a little too oily for my taste. It was good, honest Italian food, but charging £20 for a starter raises expectations a bit too much. Similarly, my dining companion's main course of the roasted filet of beef was super quality and perfectly cooked, but simply not exiting at all. And here I am, after one week, unable to remember what my main course was. That's how memorable the meal was.
I have a nasty suspicion that Giorgio is doing a Ramsey: far too busy promoting to be cooking anymore.
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