Review: Il Bambini, Shoreditch
Review: Il Bambini, Shoreditch
Italian warmth meets Shoreditch cool
By Helen Down
Image credit: Emma Pharaoh
Fun elegance is the order of the day at Il Bambini, the buzzy two-month old Italian trattoria in ever-popular Shoreditch hotel, The Hoxton. The maitre d’s belting smile and Bambini’s decadent yet playful mash-up of stripes, florals, marbles and velvets set a convivial tone. When we went, at 6:30pm on a depressingly drizzly Wednesday, the place was already filling-up with diners who looked more like they were relaxing on Amalfi coast sunloungers than East London sofas.
Before perusing the Italian-with-a-French-twist menu (most likely in homage to Paris, home of the OG Bambini), we got stuck into the cocktails. Despite the drizzle, my Il Classico spritz transported me straight to Rome. A situation made even more Italiano by the arrival of my gloriously excessive portion of aubergine alla parmigiana. I almost rolled my eyes when my dining partner opted for scampi fritti. But this was not the Bognor Regis fare the name suggested. Oh, no. These were succulent, sweet langoustines coated in feather-light batter – perfect for dunking into an unctuous well of lemony aioli.
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Next up, truffle fettuccine. Perfectly al dente, it hummed gently with truffle and came with a creamy sauce just the right side of rich. We also had the sea bass, served with escarole cabbage, capers and olives; a delicious counterbalance to the pasta’s sturdiness. Please don’t judge when I say a diavola pizza landed on our table too, all in the name of service journalism. With a delightfully springy crust and mozzarella that oozed like burrata, it was worth sacrificing yet more stomach space.
When it came to pud, our well-informed and endearing waiter advised against the tiramisu. Apparently, the portion would be far too big for our rapidly filling bellies. So imagine my surprise when my chocolate mousse turned-up in a bowl the size of a dinner plate. When I took a spoonful, though, I realised it was surprisingly light and fluffy, even once it had been smothered in salted caramel sauce. I’m embarrassed to admit I scoffed most of it. My friend’s lemon meringue tart (because a pie simply wouldn’t be classy enough) was equally as satisfying: a zesty palette-cleanser topped with a gooey white cloud. Not a single crumb was left.
Amongst all this eating, we sipped Bambini’s remarkably dry and fresh house white, which I was pleased to see came in half carafes. But those who fancy a whole bottle (or two) are also well served by an extensive Italian and French list.
Shoreditch cool meets warm Italian hospitality, if Il Bambini can rock a dreary Wednesday evening as well as this, I can’t wait to see it in full swing on a Friday night.
