Tortello: A Chic Italian Lunch, With a Side of Birthday Chaos
Tortello Restaurant
There is something civilised about a Tuesday lunch that stretches into the afternoon. No weekend crowds, no conversations bouncing off the walls and, ideally, no need to check the time between courses. At Tortello, the promise was an unhurried Italian lunch in chic surroundings, with good food, a cocktail or two and a belated birthday celebration for a friend. For the most part, it delivered. There were, however, a few hiccups, including a birthday dessert that appeared to have suffered a minor existential crisis before reaching the table.
Lemons, Neutrals and La Dolce Vita
Tortello brings the spirit of an Italian trattoria into a polished, contemporary setting, with familiar flavours presented with a refined touch. It is the sort of place that encourages you to settle in, order another course and pretend the rest of the afternoon can wait.
Arriving with a friend, I was immediately taken by the decor. Lemons were dotted around the room and on the tables, adding a cheerful Mediterranean accent without tipping into themed-trattoria territory. The palette was neutral, the styling restrained but chic, the overall effect polished without being intimidating. Then there is the pale mint-green Fiat 500, tucked away near the powder rooms: an unexpected addition and a rather delightful one, a miniature nod to Italy’s enduring romance with style. The interior feels effortlessly Italian while sitting comfortably alongside the five-star Royal Lancaster Hotel to which it is attached.
The welcome was professional and efficient. Water, curiously, did not get offered at all or arrive until we asked for it. A small thing, but in hospitality the small things are rather the point.
We began with a Cipriani Bellini and a Whisky Sour, because lunch feels considerably more promising when it opens with a cocktail. Sadly, these were the least convincing part of the meal. The Bellini’s prosecco had gone flat, and the whisky sour lacked the froth and brightness that make the classic so dependable. Neither drink was disastrous, but both felt like missed opportunities. Cocktails are often the opening statement of a restaurant's personality, and here the first impression was a little muted. One hopes for a little sparkle before the food arrives; on this occasion, it was more of a polite murmur.
Starters Worth Lingering Over
Fortunately, the food offered a more encouraging start. The Orkney crab tortelli arrived in glossy charcoal parcels, the dark pasta set dramatically against a langoustine and parsley sauce. It was delicately sweet, coastal and elegant without being fussy.
The grilled king prawns were the livelier of the two, their sweetness lifted by salsa verde, a gentle kick of red chilli and a squeeze of lemon. Seafood can be wonderfully rich, but it needs something sharp to keep it from heaviness, and this had it. Together, the starters set a lovely rhythm and made sharing feel entirely worthwhile.
The Mains: A Mixed Bag
The mains pulled in opposite directions. The sea bass, served with mussels, sautéed spinach and white wine sauce, sounded beautifully balanced on paper. On the plate, the fillet was thin and the seasoning heavy-handed, a telling verdict from a friend who usually prefers a generous hand with the salt.
The slow-cooked beef cheeks, by contrast, were a triumph. Meltingly tender, with a flavourful port wine sauce, cavolo nero and a creamy potato-and-celeriac mash, they were precisely the kind of comforting dish a long lunch calls for, and I thoroughly enjoyed them.
Of the sides, the Parmigiano fries were the clear winner: properly crisp, deeply savoury and generously coated in cheese. The chilli-and-garlic cavolo nero, however, arrived cold and oily, and we had to send it back. A disappointing turn after such a confident start, as though the care shown in the starters had not quite reached every plate.
Dessert, with a Birthday Plot Twist
Dessert was always going to be the main event, for reasons beyond the menu. Before arriving, I had deliberately called ahead to explain that we were celebrating my friend’s belated birthday. I asked the waitress for discretion, as I would be unable to discuss the surprise in front of my friend, and she kindly agreed to arrange a candle on the dessert. The plan was simple, the surprise arriving at precisely the right moment. How complicated could it possibly be?
I placed our order with a waiter: the hazelnut tiramisù with Maldon salt for me, and the profiteroles with salted caramel gelato and dark chocolate for my friend, which was to carry the candle. Both arrived promptly, but with no candle in sight. Not one to make a fuss, I said nothing and my friend and I carried on chatting.
Then our main waitress, who had looked after us for most of the meal, approached the table and audibly asked whether I still wanted the surprise candle, “as per our earlier phone conversation”. So much for discretion. I confirmed, wide-eyed, as quickly as I could and steered the conversation elsewhere while my friend, naturally, began to suspect something was afoot. The waiter who had taken our dessert order, it transpired, had never been told, so our waitress offered to whisk away my friend’s plate, to “fill it out” and dress it more appropriately for the occasion.
Meanwhile, my friend had to take an impromptu business call. Spotting the fresh plate being decorated in the kitchen, I quickly darted over and asked the waiter who had served our desserts to hold it back for a few minutes while she finished. He nodded and agreed. Somewhere between kitchen and floor, however, the message went astray. The waitress soon reappeared, early and singing at the top of her lungs, with the dessert slumped and gelato melted across the plate, while my friend was still visibly on her call and I sat quietly opposite, trying to look innocent.
My internal reaction was a silent, wide-eyed oh no. My friend’s was considerably more entertaining. Mid-chorus, the waitress realised her mistake, stopped short and made a swift retreat to the kitchen.
To the team’s credit, the dessert returned in far better condition once my friend’s call had ended, though the surprise had long since evaporated. Nobody was acting with anything other than good intentions; the execution just simply failed to follow the plan. And if you cannot laugh when a birthday dessert melts before its grand entrance, you may be taking lunch rather too seriously.
As for the puddings themselves, the tiramisù was rich with hazelnut and a pleasing pinch of salt, though I missed the coffee kick that gives the classic its character. The profiteroles were the more indulgent finale, a richer, more contemporary twist on a familiar comfort, and one I would happily recommend.
The Final Verdict
Tortello is an appealing setting for a leisurely Italian lunch. The decor is chic, the details are charming, and the starters, beef cheeks, fries and desserts offered moments of genuine pleasure. Would I dismiss it on the strength of this lunch? Not for a moment. But the gap between an attractive room and seamless hospitality is found in the details: water at the start offered unprompted, a side served hot, a cocktail with a little more life and a candle that arrives when it is meant to.
As for my friend, she received a birthday dessert, an afternoon of good conversation and an unexpected comedy interlude. Not quite the elegant surprise I had planned, but certainly a memorable one.
Perhaps that is the most Italian thing about the whole affair: lunch, like life, is rarely perfect, although a properly chilled, properly fizzy Bellini and a little better communication would not have gone amiss.
