Sparrow Italia was still finding its feet when I paid it a visit, but that didn’t dampen the new Mayfair restaurant's glamour or glitz.
A peep in the cloakroom and you could see it was a mess - I had hoped I would leave with a better coat, but alas, I got my old rag back at the end of the night.
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There was an abundance of staff; those we dubbed the secret service due to their head-to-toe black garb and earpieces, the hostesses, the bartenders, a sommelier, a waiter to take our order, another to deliver our food, and another person whose sole job it seemed was to refill the water.
It was a little confusing and slightly hectic, and there were times when we weren’t sure if we were forgotten about or overlooked.
It took us three goes at trying to order our drinks (was it bar service or table service, or could we flag down a member of the secret service – not even the secret service knew for sure) and one staff member to escort us from one side of the bar to the other as we moved from our pre-drinks perch to our table for the night.
Chuck in a woman (aka the mermaid) in a sequin full-length dress roaming around playing a lit-up electric violin and you’ve got a slight air of chaos, but very extravagant, glamourous chaos.
To be fair to the venue, I visited it on day three of its public existence so of course there were teething problems. You have to be a little kind in situations like this - you can’t set a cocktail on fire without working out which member of staff is tasked with lighting the match.
Homed in a three-storey townhouse on Avery Row, Sparrow Italia opened its doors in October.
It’s the wintery sister venue to the original in Hotel Figueroa downtown L.A and comes with all the glamour and razzle dazzle of its warm weather sibling which wasn’t diminished by the sense of ‘What’s Happening Now?’ waning in and out of the room.
Sparrow Italia, a kind of clubby restaurant, is a place to indulge in indulgence – a venue where the woes of the outside world don’t make a dint (what heating bill?). And it’s pretty unapologetic about that.
Despite sprawling across three levels, I only made it to the street-level bar and dining room which was all mood lighting, rich fabrics and a statement of a bar – luxuriant and plush.
Actually, I also paid a visit to the basement loos. In contrast to the velvety, soft comforts of the dining room, these were marble, sleek and clean lined – the kind of toilets that while away time.
Our cocktails came alight and embellished; my friend’s tequila based molise came with a bejeweled swizzle stick and a miniature cork-topped bottle of blue liquid anchored in the orange pool of booze. My vodka and grapefruit campania was wearing a crown of thyme and pretty blue flowers. The third cocktail, a smokey mezcal number, came with a two-inch head of foam.
Wines were mostly Italian and mostly unfamiliar. The wine list didn’t start cheap, but it didn’t end as high as it could have either.
Portions were plenty and large and delicious. Hefty chunks of focaccia were well-greased with herby oil; the bulbus meatballs came sitting in a thick tomatoey puddle, while the pudgy mushroom arancini balls were used to wipe across a generous smear of pungent truffle aioli.
The truffle fries came out so heavy with the decadent little fungus, you could smell the stuff three tables away.
The standout dish, however, was the sharing lobster linguini. Strands of thick pasta and a generous amount of fleshy crustacean pieces were entangled together in a pool of herby tomato-based sauce which begged to be mopped up with bread.
Not a place to dial down the extravagance by the end of the meal, the desserts also came large, but thankfully, not cloyingly sweet.
The citrus olive oil cake nailed Italian elegance, while the ricotta stuffed cannoli and the Nutella and whipped ricotta-dipped doughnuts were a little more hedonistic and an opportunity to make dinner linger for longer, spoon in one hand, digestif in the other, while London outside continued to unravel.
Address: 1-3 Avery Row, London W1K 4AJ
Website: sparrowitalia.com
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