Stepping into the new Locatelli at the National Gallery restaurant feels like slipping through a portal to a sun-dappled trattoria in Rome’s Campo de’ Fiori, albeit one with a view of Trafalgar Square’s decidedly unglamorous pigeons rather than Piazza Navona’s fountains.
The latest venture from the great Giorgio Locatelli, nestled within the neoclassical grandeur of the newly renovated National Gallery, is a love letter to traditional Italian cuisine – precise, passionate, and just a touch theatrical. It’s the kind of place where you expect to see Fellini nursing an espresso – or a hangover – sketching storyboards on a napkin.
On a recent visit, I found myself seduced by the menu’s swagger, the Italoamericano cocktail of the day, and a wine list that reads like a Tuscan odyssey. The Italoamericano, a daily-changing concoction, arrived first – a blushing, bittersweet marriage of Campari, vermouth, strawberry soda, and a whisper of citrus that danced on the tongue like a Vespa weaving through Roman traffic.
It was the perfect overture to a parade of nibbles that showcased Locatelli’s knack for elevating simplicity to an art form. The Parma ham and Parmesan, sliced so thinly it dissolved like a sigh, was a masterclass in restraint, each bite a salty, nutty hymn to Emilia-Romagna.
We followed up with burrata, creamy and indecently luscious, sprawled across a spring vegetable and mint salad, its freshness cutting through the richness like a spring breeze, abetted by a crisp Gavi, its mineral edge a fine foil to the richness. But the star was the cuttlefish salad, a delicate tangle of peas, lemon zest, pea shoots, and chives – an oceanic poem that tasted of the Amalfi coast, vibrant and alive.
Mains arrived with the suave confidence of a Marcello Mastroianni entrance. The tagliatelle with beef and pork ragout, generously dusted with Parmesan, was a triumph of comfort, the pasta silken and the sauce a slow-simmered ode to Nonna’s kitchen. Each forkful was a reminder that Italian cooking, at its best, is about soul as much as skill, and both were in evidence here.
As for the ribeye steak, seared to a blushing medium-rare, it came flanked by aubergine, red onion, cherry tomatoes, and a rocket pesto that added a peppery zing. It was robust, unapologetic, and paired magnificently with a glass of Montepulciano, its dark fruit and velvety tannins swaggering like a Tuscan count.
For dessert, the tiramisu was a predictable but unimpeachable choice – ethereal layers of mascarpone and coffee-soaked sponge that managed to be both decadent and light, a paradox only Italians of the calibre here could pull off. The chocolate cake, dense and fudgy, came from a tempting-looking dessert trolley, and it would have been rude not to have indulged. It was accompanied by a very fine flat white – the time for alcohol having passed – and we headed out replete and happy.
Service was warm, if occasionally over-emphatic, but our charming waiter was a joy to deal with. Although the restaurant has only been open a matter of a few weeks, it already feels like a London classic. The room itself, with its soft lighting and sleek, modern nod to Italian design, hums with conviviality, though the National Gallery’s tourists and (worse) conference guests can lend a faintly transient air. Still, Locatelli’s food transcends the setting, turning a meal into a minor epic.
This is not cheap dining – mains hover around the £30 mark, and that Italoamericano won’t leave change from a tenner – but it’s worth every penny for a taste of la dolce vita in WC2. Locatelli has crafted a restaurant that feels both timeless and timely, a place to linger over a glass of Montepulciano and dream of Roman sunsets. Book a table, order the cuttlefish salad, and let the magic unfold.
The National Gallery,Trafalgar Square, London WC2N 5DN. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.nationalgallery.org.uk.
