I fondly remember the days when Italian restaurants meant romantic dates (yes there was indeed such a sweet, innocent period in my life) and good food. Carluccio’s, if anything, proves once more how Italian food has lost its shine in London, and everything is just bland and sad.
Camera: Nikon D80, Nikkor 50mm lens
The place itself (like seemingly anything in the Wharf) is often packed and the tables so squeezed next to each other that one day I had to get people to stand up from their seats so I could get to the table the waiter had graciously placed me at. Romance requires some level of privacy and intimacy, and this would not be the place for it.
The lasagna seemed like a rather safe bet for any Italian place – oh how wrong we are to ever assume anything. Now, I do quite enjoy salty food, and when I cook perhaps I enjoy salt a bit too much. But this lasagna must have dwelled in a salt mine for some time, scratching on the walls until it makes sure it’s all a bit too much.
Staff is decently perky but food is mediocre towards unpleasant. Maybe my expectations of what Italian food ‘should’ taste like are too high for this day and age.