Ave Mario
Ave Mario, Leicester Square, London
After a short period of what is generally known as writer’s block, I needed to experience something so shocking, so horrific, that it would jolt me from my temporary paralysis.
Unfortunately for me, that experience came in the form of one of the worst meals of my life. Fortunately for you, I’m going to dissect everything tp to the last detail in a noble quest to understand how a restaurant as depressing as Ave Mario could exist.
The personification of caricature, this dumbed down 'Dolimio’ faux Italian hell hole is the Lloyd Grossman of Italian dining; so watered down, so bland it becomes hard to justify even calling it Italian.
So, join me for an evening so absurd at one point I thought I’d stumbled into the opening ceremony for the 2006 Turin Winter Olympics.
The Vibe
Ave Mario is the latest addition to Big Mamma group, the Italian restaurant collection adored by ring light-wielding micro influencers. Owned by two Frenchmen, the brash conceptual idea hurls “upmarket” Italian food into a collision with every single tired Zizzi/ASK/Carluccio cliché we were all trying to forget about.
Both their 2019 sophomore outings, Gloria, and its follow-up Circolo Populare generated a genuine buzz when they opened. While I haven’t eaten in either myself, they’re always busy and I’ve heard okay things. But people also told me they loved Ave Mario so maybe the only person you can really trust in life is yourself.
Ave Mario, which I would describe as the love child of ‘bunga bunga’ loving disgraced former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and a melted packet of starbursts, made it immediately apparent that minimalism was a definite Ave Mari-No-No.
The decor looked like someone had eaten the Tweenies and then projectile vomited all over Leicester Square. The underlying “style” guidelines seemed to be “when in doubt, cover it in a black and white checkered tile”. And if not black and white, then the most horrifying hue of red you can find.
A particular experience personifies the perplexing magnitude of how committed to maximalism Ave Mario is. On a visit to the bathroom I found two additional vast caverns, all filled to the rafters with gaggles of 16-year-olds and their Michael Kors bags. I was bowled over. You cannot actually fathom how big this place is. The Westfield of pasta restaurants. The Dubai Mall of Burrata.
It’s in this vast scale that Ave Mario lost any sense of substance. Yes, it’s shiny and neon, but it’s also vapid and a little sad. I felt sorry for the poor waiters who had to wheel out a giant flaming Straciettella ice cream cake for every goddamn sweet sixteen, the light slowly draining from their eyes. The service had a similar flavour, vibrant, but oddly distant. Before we even got to the food I couldn’t help but be slightly horrified by the way in which this restaurant so flippantly traded off Italian culture for a water jug shaped like two breasts and a neon bathroom sign that said “Let That Shit Go”.
The Food
Any remnants of joy were quickly dashed by the food. In stark contrast to the overbearing interior, it was some of the drabbest I’ve ever eaten.
We started off with a cichetti platter which was fine. Consisting of a selection of cheeses, olives and anchovies, it was the perfect accompaniment for our cocktails called Federico Bellini and Calm Your Tits.
Next up were crispy courgette flowers with Aioli. Void of literally anything, it was like eating deep fried air. The burrata was ok, but the truffle shavings on top were the battery hens of truffle, their wateriness matched only by their ethical questionability. To round off our dazzling array of starters was a baby pizza with mozzarella, crème fraiche and something called Italian caviar. Stodgy and barren, the pizza was undercooked and I’m pretty sure the “caviar” was collected from a goldfish at the bottom of the Thames.
Our mains consisted of a trio of pastas, all noteworthy in their blandness. I’m pretty sure the pesto tagliatelle didn’t have any pesto in, it was just…green?. The prawn linguine was passable, and I don’t even remember ordering the lemon ricotta ravioli which tells you all you need to know about that dish.
The Verdict
By the time they wheeled out the strachietella ice cream cake for me (can you IMAGINE my face), we were exhausted.
I’ve not ever had a meal that’s has left me genuinely depressed. Dare I even mention the cost of this place. You’re looking at £60 a head to eat food that I’m not sure would make the cut at Bella Italia. Maybe if they spent less time creating cocktails that were the size of my face and more time on the food I would be less angry, and less wasted.
I always think of our Italian local in Brighton, Otello’s. Everything has cream in it and portion sizes should be criminalised, but it’s reasonable, punchy, welcoming, down to earth, proper, grub. That to me is good Italian food. It’s unpretentious and substantial. Ave Mario is everything Otello’s is not. It lacks charm and serves up fakeness by the pound., It’s an insult to the many Italians in London that are fighting to stay alive in the current climate.
Was the food stunning 1/5 – The antithesis of stunning
The Vibe 2/5 – Like being in the restaurant of an Italian themed hotel at that never made the cut for Disneyland
Scream factor 5/5– If you get motion sickness don’t visit Ave Mario
Pricey? – Extortionate
Would you recommend to someone you just met at a party? – No
