Il Paradiso Perduto — Restaurant in Venice

Paradiso Perduto: Paradise Lost, Indeed

Paradiso Perduto: Paradise Lost, Indeed

There was a time—not so long ago—when Paradiso Perduto was less a restaurant and more a rite of passage for discerning visitors to Venice. An unfussy gem tucked beside the canal, it struck that rare chord between culinary soul and convivial spirit. The food was honest, the atmosphere electric, and the service refreshingly warm. It featured proudly on my personal pilgrimage list each time I returned to La Serenissima—two, sometimes three times a year. It was, dare I say, a vibe.

Alas, all good things are subject to the fatal whims of ownership change.

It is with the mournful resignation of a once-devoted patron that I report: the “Paradiso” has indeed been “Perduto.” Under its new regime, the place has suffered a tragic metamorphosis—from a beloved bacaro into a parody of itself. What was once charmingly bohemian is now simply chaotic. What was once effortlessly cool is now clumsily pretentious.

The service now comes with a side of aloof disdain—one part arrogance, one part amateurism, and not a trace of hospitality. One particularly snappy young woman at the till—clearly moonlighting as a character from a bad French New Wave film—refused, with theatrical disdain, to split a bill of over €140 between three diners. “One payment per table,” she sniffed, as though we’d asked her to wash our feet, not accept three card taps in 2025. The inconvenience was matched only by the attitude. She wouldn’t even split the bill in half.

The food, meanwhile, seems conceived more for Instagram than appetite: a limp seafood starter that could’ve come straight from a supermarket shelf, followed by a plate of pasta that had all the passion of a boarding school lunch tray. The pricing, however, has bravely marched into haute cuisine territory—as though mediocrity might be disguised by cost.

In short: Paradiso Perduto has become a textbook case in how to dismantle a restaurant’s soul in record time. A culinary tragedy, poorly acted.

Avoid—unless you’re researching a thesis on the perils of hubris in...

Paradiso Perduto evolved over the decades: From a humble restaurant catering to locals, then as a "local" option for tourists among many copycats, until today's reincarnation as a trendy, realist and charmingly classic fish restaurant with shared tables and an open kitchen. I think that they finally found their tango, and they are not going to stop.

Starting from the menu, the Paradiso Perduto oozes complicity and personality. It is a piece of paper with exclamation marks, underhanded comments, caps and a joyous chaos that sets the tone for dinner. It makes you hungry just reading it, and ut delivers the promise that nothing is boring here. Not the place, not the food, not the staff and the patrons themselves.

While prices have gone up, quality went up as well. The almost centenary "Gran Fritoin" suffers from the evolution of available fish in the seas, not doubts about it, but still delivers a grand slam of taste that is very rare in Venice and absolutely unique in the area (for the price). The pasta is made, not bought. The mollusks are dutifully cleaned when served. The fish is fresh, the cuttlefish is soft as butter and the portions are always abundant. There are only wholes here: whole fish, whole bottle, whole plate.

The wine selection is clever, and the bottles are casually chilled in copper pots that make polenta, which cost as much a person's dinner. The humble opulence and luxury of the restaurant continues with the hardwood tables, the archeological floor and the original Murano glasses that are exclusive to the table's water. There are hidden secrets, ready to catch the wandering eye in the restaurant's décor, some kind of puzzle: how can a place survive in Venice without dropping to the lowest acceptable standard? Will the people understand it? Will it survive against a competition of fake pizzas and microwaved dinners served as cusine?

To find the answer, all you have to do is walk in, sit down, and discover that Paradiso Perduto has the nefarious habit of not treating the tourist as someone who never...

If you're a local, then this is probably the best place to go. The smells were lovely and it's always lively. However if you're a tourist, then be warned that the Venetian locals will look at you the same way a Spanish copper looks at a Catalonian... We booked a table for 9pm and walked in a couple of hours early to ask if there was any chance we could move our booking to an earlier slot. The restaurant was empty, so we were pretty optimistic. We asked a very friendly waitress who, with a terrified expression explained that we had to speak to "Julia". We asked another waiter and he too sheepishly suggested we speak to Madame Mussolini... Basically the staff are too terrified of their management. So we approached the bespectacled stresspot called Julia who told us that there was no way she could fit us in. No problem for us, that's fair enough. I then asked if we could eat now (6pm) because the restaurant was empty, and she muttered something about what my name was and walked away. For 10 minutes we stood there waiting and she continuously ignored us every time we tried to get her attention. On getting other staff's attention, they were too terrified to speak to us in case we upset "Julia Caesar".

So we walked out, and went to Osteria Al Bacco which was bloody excellent! Honestly, the Calamari is the best I've ever had!

Please note, it's unfair to put the blame on Julia - she's clearly overworked and she needs more support. Definitely a reflection on...