I have been to La Bellezza six times since it opened in Mid-December. Once for a soft launch with 50% off the bill, once a fully comped PR trip, and four times paid, of which two were booked and two were walk-ins where I begged to sit at the bar and was given a table, before I begged some more and was moved to the bar. There would have been a seventh time but they couldn’t find room for me, which leaves little hope for them finding room for you. During those visits I have completed the pasta menu, tried 20% of the pizza menu, just two of the snacky type things, and reached dessert just once. By my reckoning I have had eight negronis, seven bottles of red, two white, and just about every shot of digestif they do. You can accuse me of whatever you want, and many have tried, but my research into last year’s hottest opening has been nothing other than detailed.

It is safe to say that I wouldn’t attempt seven visits in four weeks if I didn’t like it. But I really do, and for all of the reasons that I don’t usually love restaurants. Yes the interior is jaw-droppingly beautiful, a kind of The Ivy meets White Lotus room of high ceilings and walls lined with bottles, white clothed banquet seating, and foliage. And yes, as with all Big Mamma restaurants there is a tendency to lean on easy Instagram bat signals such as pasta served in wheels of parmesan, or pizzas named things like ‘Netflix and Chilli’, but look past(a) that and what you have are the two things that really matter in a restaurant; good food and hospitality.

That hospitality is slick and in-your-face, more London than we have ever seen in this city, and I am all the more thankful for it. They ‘get’ it. From the second the door opens, to being shown to your table and introduced to your server. Go twice and they’ll remember your name. Go three times and they’ll remember your favourite seat. Six times – and I can testify this – they’ll remember the styles of wine your partner likes to drink. It is hugely impressive. I sent a glass of wine back because it wasn’t in perfect condition and received a better one as way of apology. If the battle for bums on seats is as difficult as many predict in the first quarter, they’ll win because the hard yards have gone into making the diner feel special.

The food veers from good to excellent and sits mostly in the ‘very good’ part of that spectrum. The arancini is excellent, like as good as you’ll find in Palermo; ideal rice, nice hard fry on the coating and really generous amounts of Piedmont black truffle. Also good is the tartare with coarsely chopped beef, to which they’ve gone entirely their route of leaning into the acidity of mustard, pickles, fried capers, olives, and pokey chimichurri using anchovies. It would be easy for them to lean into a simplified carne crudo recipe but they’ve gone and done something different and well done, it’s paid off.


I like the pasta most. Blag a seat at the bar and you’ll see them rolling and folding and filling. Everybit handmade and all of it true to the correct style and shape of the pasta, which seems basic until you’ve been served fettuccine masquerading as linguine too often in this part of the city. I’ve had the malfadine twice now because there is not a lot not to love about thick frilly pasta coated in a truffle heavy cream sauce and finished with loads of top quality truffle. And I really like the lamb ragu with the spaghetti and the linguine with loads of crab in a bisque sauce that’s dainty and hot and the ravioli that shouldn’t work because the sauce is on paper way more bigger than the filling, but somehow tastes balanced. And here is my only suggestion here; once the hype dies down and walk-in’s become more of a thing, a bowl of pasta and a big glass of wine here is a perfectly nice lunch/early dinner/weekend brunch.



Because you’ll be really full if you come and go the whole hog. Whilst Italy eats pasta for the middle course the large portion sizes here don’t lend too well to a full four course dinner. The pizza is big, the pasta is big, the mains are really big. Sophie stretched her Ceasar salad out to lunch and dinner with ease, and the same could be said for either of the steaks. I happen to like the meatballs most, if only because they’ve worked at making it appeal to a portion of the city which don’t eat pork, finding the right blend of cow meat and cow fat and emulsifying it until the texture is not unlike a frankfurter. They are great to eat, helped by a punchy tomato sauce that doesn’t hold back on the garlic. These eat best with sides of crispy broken potatoes and tenderstem broccoli. Maybe some focaccia to mop up the last of the sauce. The one time I’ve reached dessert it was for the 5.9 inch lemon tart which looked 13 inches to me and 3 inches to Sophie. It’s a cracker; properly zingy and well made, with an Italian meringue that begs to be deep throated. Save room for it. Sophie also rates the tiramisu.




There was a piece in The Spectator last year that focused on the diets of food writers. In essence it was a poor man Gill’s piece aided by a quote from a poor man’s Gill which this poor man’s Gill is going to butcher. He said that the days of food writers going to the same restaurant are dead, which is fine if the restaurant isn’t very good and less fine if you happen to like it a lot. One where the toilets are tributes to Francesca Totti and every member of staff is brilliant. One where they have the sense of place to put the Villa game on in the loo on the night of the opening party (still the best – maybe the only – thing Conrad has done of note). One where the pasta is fresh and the atmosphere is of a good time, not a serious time. I have been hyper-critical of businesses walking into Brum and offering a substandard to what we already have, but everything they have done is considered and respectful to the city. La Bellezza I like you a lot.
9/10