The Italian Greyhound

Just what London needed - another Italian restaurant masquerading as a gastropub, or is it the other way around? The Italian Greyhound in London's Marylebone district initially struck me as yet another establishment trying too hard to be everything to everyone. A wine bar-slash-restaurant-slash-pub hybrid that probably does none particularly well, I thought. How delightfully wrong I was.

Let's address the elephant in the room - the price point. Yes, you'll need to remortgage your shoe cupboard for a full evening here. But unlike many of London's supposedly upscale Italians that serve you microscopic portions of mediocrity garnished with pretension, The Italian Greyhound actually delivers value for your rapidly diminishing pounds.

I arrived determined to hate it. The bright, airy space with its tasteful décor and carefully curated wine list seemed suspiciously well-thought-out. The staff's genuine warmth felt like a personal affront to my cynicism. Where was the typical London hospitality industry passive-aggression I'd come to know and tolerate?

The first crack in my armor appeared with the burrata. Listen, I've had enough burrata in London to sink a small Italian fishing vessel, but this one, served with pickled beets and an ingenious courgette pesto, made me temporarily forget my professional obligation to find fault. The second blow to my carefully maintained skepticism came via their arancini - crispy little spheres of joy filled with Taleggio and given a kick by Calabrian chilli that would make my Sicilian grandmother weep (if I had one).

The pasta, oh lord, the pasta. Their truffle ravioli should come with a warning label: "May cause involuntary expressions of pleasure and the temporary suspension of cynical food criticism." It's rich without being overwhelming, perfectly al dente, and demonstrates an understanding of truffle that's rare in London - namely, that it should enhance rather than bludgeon the other flavors into submission.

Even their pizza, which I fully expected to be an afterthought, manages to achieve that perfect balance between Naples-style authenticity and London palate-pleasing innovation. The artichoke and Taleggio combination shouldn't work as well as it does, but here we are.

The wine list deserves special mention, if only because it manages to be both extensive and accessible - a rare feat in London's dining scene. They've somehow avoided the common trap of marking up mediocre bottles to astronomical levels, though don't get me wrong, you can still spend the equivalent of a weekend break on a single bottle if you're so inclined.

What truly sets The Italian Greyhound apart from London's overcrowded Italian dining scene is its remarkable ability to be several things at once without failing at any of them. It works equally well for a casual lunch (if your lunch budget rivals some people's weekly grocery spend), a romantic dinner, or a Sunday afternoon wine session that accidentally turns into dinner.

The outdoor seating area, when London's weather permits its use, manages to create that elusive continental atmosphere that so many establishments attempt and fail to achieve. Even the background music - usually my favorite thing to complain about - strikes the right balance between atmospheric and unobtrusive.

Is it perfect? Of course not. The service can occasionally drift into the dreaded territory of too-casual-for-the-price-point, and yes, you might need to take out a small loan to work your way through the menu properly. But in a city where mediocrity often masquerades as excellence, The Italian Greyhound stands as a reluctantly acknowledged triumph.

So here I am, eating my words along with the last of their sublime dark chocolate mousse with olive oil and sea salt, admitting that sometimes, just sometimes, London gets it right. Make a reservation at The Italian Greyhound. Go on. I promise not to tell anyone I sent you.