Pane Cunzato - Italian Pizza Restaurant — Restaurant in London

To the Most Noble and Gastronomically Curious,

I pen this review by candlelight with trembling hands, my britches loosened, my soul reconfigured. For I have returned—barely—from Pane Cunzato, that hallowed enclave of chaotic carbohydrate exaltation, where Sir Mir the Server, may angels salt his footsteps, did lead me unto glory and near-peril.

We arrived at dusk and were seated al fresco outdoors, beneath a Mediterranean sky so crisp and flirtatious it seemed to giggle every time I blinked. The table was modest, the breeze divine, and the olive oil already glistening on the linen like dew upon the tunic of Aphrodite.

Then entered Mir.

He did not approach as a man might, no. He emerged from a shadow between two potted plants, eyes full of thyme, carrying a jug of mystery and a knowing smirk. He said nothing. He simply nodded, as if to whisper directly to my pancreas, “You shall suffer joyfully today.”

And lo! The Great Calzone.

Friends, when I say massive, I do not mean “large.” I mean colossal. The size of a ceremonial shield. Nay! of a minor duchy. It was brought forth on its own wooden slab, escorted by two unseen forces and a gust of oregano wind. Upon first bite, I felt my ancestors cheer from the realm beyond.

Steam poured out like fog across the moors. Cheese oozed like diplomatic scandal. It contained within it entire civilisations, a rogue tomato republic, a pepperoni militia, and a warm, creamy underworld of ricotta so plush I momentarily believed I’d been rebirthed into dairy.

I unsheathed my knife like a knight preparing for battle and was immediately defeated.

Now, to my right, the Right Honourable George Anthony Ginswizzle, Duke of Flavourshire and respected collector of velvet hats, partook in what shall henceforth be known in historical records as The Pistachio Pizza of Destiny.

My God. It sparkled. It glimmered. Its crust sang softly of Sicilian summers, and the pistachios… the pistachios! They were not merely sprinkled. They were decreed. Each bite sent Ginswizzle into a fit of contemplative ecstasy. At one point he began speaking fluent Latin. None of us had taught him.

Mid-meal, Mir returned, carrying nothing but a rosemary sprig and the weight of his own myth. He whispered into the wind, “Are you changed?” I nodded. He vanished.

The outdoor seating proved most agreeable. Birds applauded. A stray breeze offered to adopt me. I briefly proposed to a passing olive.

Final decree:

Pane Cunzato is no eatery it is an opera sung by garlic. A fever dream baked into crust. A holy pilgrimage upon doughy terrain. Mir, you magnificent sorcerer, you have ruined all other meals for me henceforth. I am now but a vessel for memory and mozzarella.

Yours, sauced and sanctified, Lord Joshua of House Glutenbourne Calzone Survivor • Witness to the Pesto Rapture • Friend...

So... Pane Cunzato – what a nice surprise!

By the way, I’m Italian, and I wanted to try some Italian cuisine in London.

Anyway, Pane Cunzato is a cozy little place where you can enjoy Italian-style food and some great Italian dishes. Let me tell you about it.

Sliced cured meats: nothing to complain about – as good as in Italy. They even had mortadella, which is very hard to find outside of Italy, and I have to say, it was really good!

Bruschetta with tomatoes: good, with quality oil – not extra virgin, probably, but still fine. Fresh tomatoes, though a bit too salty for my taste.

Arancini: so… what we got wasn’t exactly arancini. Don’t get me wrong – they were very good, but they should call them something else, maybe “mini supplì” or something, as true arancini are massive, almost a full meal by themselves. Still, they were really tasty and an interesting take.

Fettuccine al ragù: they were fine, but one thing we noticed is that the sauce didn’t have enough time to properly reduce; it should have stayed on the stove a bit longer. One last thing (just an impression): I think no wine was used for the meat… which can work, but without it, it’s not really a ragù. :)

Pane Cunzato classico: I have to admit, this was fantastic – flavorful, rich, with different textures, nicely prepared, and beautifully presented! Great job.

Coffee and affogato al caffè: a good espresso outside of Italy is hard to find, and both the espresso and the affogato al caffè here were spot on. Simply perfect.

In the end, if you’re not Italian, I definitely recommend this place, and if you are Italian, you’ll find a nice kitchen full of skilled people delivering very good Italian dishes – always with a...

Tasteless food + unbelievably stressful service. They made us uncomfortable and served us bad food.

Definely go elsewhere, reader! If you want Sicilian or Italian food, there's plenty of better places across London. If you want something good, there's even more choice in the area.

I am Sicilian, and I consider the food I ate an insult to good Sicilian food. It didn't taste bad, just tasted of nothing...

Arancini were tasteless, tiny and not really arancini (more like fried rice with cheese).

Pane cunzato was tasteless: you wouldn't notice it had mortadella, burrata and pistacchio if it was not for the menu.

Desserts were tasteless too: semifreddo alle mandorle tasted liked some cold nothing, the pistacchio tiramisù didn't taste like it.

On top of that, service was really BAD. They tried to push us out throughout the one hour we were there! I mean , I can understand if we spent 2-3h...but 1h for dinner, including starter and dessert, seems surely ok??

The moment we sat they asked us if we knew what food we wanted to order. They asked us again literally 2min after.

While dining, they cleaned the table while we were still eating (!), taking away the serving platter the moment we took the last piece of food - and I mean it, literally our fork with the food on it was still midair.

They brought us the bill without us asking for it the very moment we finished the dessert. They just said "I think you wanted to pay?" with a cheeky arrogant smile.

After paying, we did the mistake of spending 1 minute chatting among us, during which they kept staring at us making us extremely uncomfortable.

The place is also fairly small, although that's normal for central...