Piccolino Birmingham — Restaurant in Birmingham

We came for my mother-in-law’s 80th. And I’m not going to do mother-in-law jokes here. I could. Lord knows I could. But frankly, the restaurant did them all for me. Every tired, uninspired, phoned-in, family-gathering cliché was catered for—except, ironically, the catering.

Now, on the face of it, Piccolino looks the part. Stylish even. There’s a low golden glow, waiters in the regulation waistcoats, and the usual interior designer’s salad of marble, brass, and botanical tat. Plastic plants dangle from the ceiling like a housewife’s dream of the Amalfi Coast. You could almost be convinced. Almost.

But then things begin to unravel. Slowly at first. A thread here, a fray there. Our table is one place setting short. Not a huge problem, unless you’re the person standing awkwardly, clutching a gift bag, wondering if the table’s just gaslighting you. And yes, it’s a Friday night, but the restaurant is half empty. A few lonely couples, a business dinner dying quietly in the corner. It should have been buzzing. It was barely idling.

Drinks take forever. Long enough that you begin to wonder if the Pinot Grigio is still on the vine. And when it does arrive, it’s warm. Not room temperature. Not cellar cool. Warm. Like it had just done a shift under a Tuscan sunlamp and was ready for a lie down.

Then the food. The menu reads well enough—some safe hits, some ambitious misses—but what arrives feels like a culinary shrug. The pasta was dry, claggy, and slumped on the plate like it had given up halfway through the boil. The presentation suggested a chef in a hurry, or perhaps a hostage. Even the panna cotta looked like it had been assembled mid-apology.

It’s a shame. Because you want to like these places. You want to come out, for a birthday, with family and laughter and the clink of glasses and plates you didn’t have to wash. You don’t want to feel like you are the inconvenience. That your mere presence is messing with the restaurant’s vibe.

But that’s how it felt. A sort of low-grade irritation, like they’d rather you just ordered a Deliveroo and left them to their curated Instagram silence.

Piccolino Birmingham: a fallen angel of a restaurant. Once full of promise, now floating somewhere between faded glamour and full-blown couldn’t-care-less. We raised a glass to 80 years of life. The restaurant, I fear, won’t see...

🍝 Piccolino – Brindleyplace, Birmingham 🇮🇹 It’s the little things that stay with you – and Piccolino gets it just right.

At Highcliffe House, we’ve always believed in Memorable Moments — those small, thoughtful touches that turn good hospitality into something genuinely special. So, when I booked a table at Piccolino and casually mentioned it was my birthday, I wasn’t expecting much. But clearly, I’d picked a restaurant that speaks the same language.

On arrival, I was warmly greeted and, without fanfare, offered a complimentary glass of whatever I fancied (within reason, of course). I mean — how could I say no to a lovely glass of Chianti? Deep, rich, and velvety — the perfect way to kick off an Italian birthday treat.

To start, I went for their Focaccia al Rosmarino — freshly baked, delicately salted, and full of fragrant rosemary. Crisp on the outside, pillowy inside, it was the kind of bread that demands slow eating and good olive oil.

But the star of the evening? Tonnarelli alla Carbonara — and yes, the real deal. No cream in sight. Just silky ribbons of fresh pasta coated in a glossy sauce made from egg yolk, Pecorino Romano, crispy guanciale, and cracked black pepper. It was rich, indulgent, and perfectly balanced — every bite delivering that deep umami hit only a proper Carbonara can provide. The guanciale added just the right salty crunch, and the pasta had that beautiful bite you only get from handmade tonnarelli.

Service throughout was friendly, professional, and just the right level of attentive — the kind where you feel genuinely looked after, not hovered over.

In short? Piccolino delivered that rare thing: an experience that felt both polished and personal. A birthday dinner with soul. It’s not just about the food (though the food was sublime) — it’s the gesture, the care, the intention. And that’s what lingers.

So grazie, Piccolino. You served up more than a meal — you served...

I recently visited a restaurant with high hopes of indulging in a delightful seafood dinner. Unfortunately, my experience turned out to be a complete letdown. The highlight of my disappointment was the uncooked lobster that was presented to me.

Upon receiving my plate, I eagerly anticipated savoring succulent and perfectly cooked lobster meat. However, what I encountered was an undercooked, rubbery mess that left me questioning the chef's culinary skills. The lobster was virtually inedible, and it was evident that proper attention was not given to its preparation. It's disheartening to pay a premium price for a dish that fails to meet even the most basic expectations.

Furthermore, the overall pricing at this establishment was exorbitant. I understand that quality seafood often comes with a higher price tag, but the prices here were simply unjustifiable. The menu boasted a range of options, but the cost did not align with the quality of the dishes. It felt like a blatant attempt to capitalize on customers' desire for a memorable dining experience without delivering on the promise.

To make matters worse, the service I received was lackluster. The staff seemed disinterested and inattentive, which further added to my frustration. It's disconcerting to witness such indifference from a restaurant that prides itself on offering a premium dining experience.

Overall, my visit to this restaurant left a sour taste in my mouth, both literally and figuratively. The uncooked lobster, combined with the overpriced menu and subpar service, made for an extremely disappointing dining experience. I would strongly advise anyone seeking a quality seafood meal to...