Bocca di Lupo

£28 - £67 / Italian, Vegetarian options

12 Archer St, London

Michelin

Opening hours

12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM

Sunday 12PM-3:30PM & 5PM-11:30PM
Monday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM
Tuesday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM
Wednesday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM
Thursday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM
Friday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM
Saturday 12PM-3PM & 5PM-12AM

Exquisite Italian Delights in London

Visiting Bocca di Lupo in Soho is a brilliant refutation to anyone who claims that fine dining is an ordeal rather than a pleasure. The atmosphere buzzes with the intimacy and excitement of people discovering culinary art in delightful bite-sized permutations, as only a consummate maestro of Italian cuisine might orchestrate. Those worryingly small tables cluttered together invoke not claustrophobia but camaraderie, and while you may be elbow-to-elbow with strangers, who remain strangers after such a shared experience? Plates fly by bearing irresistible treats inspired by every region in Italy, reincarnating blissful forgotten flavors or ones Health & Safety long suggested we shouldn’t attempt at home. Imagine laying siege to seared sea bream carpaccio, gloriously bright saffron arancini, or perhaps silky pappardelle in duck ragù that could make even a hardened misanthrope coo with delight.

Bocca di Lupo champions dishes defined more by authenticity than embellishment, which explains the chef's decision to skip old favorites when they're out of season, thus guarding your taste memory against overwrought repetition. To accompany, an Italian wine list so carefully curated, it floats irresistibly towards enthusiasts and novices alike, replacing any dinner-table battle for dominance with little more than “just one more glass.” As for symphonic service, expect warm cheer from the staff who pace around you staccato-like when necessity demands, or glide discreetly when your tête-à-tête promises to match the meal for beauty. Nothing too much is ever too much trouble, although should you query prolonged waiting times, it appears some managers might welcome a refresher course in conversational grace. But amid such revels suggested by shared plates and effervescent popaccles – potatoes polished like they’re off the floor of Michelangelo’s studio, or beans paradoxically solemn in unobtrusive glory – reluctant grievances deserve bundling into a burlap sack and vanished away. So vibrant, genuine, and embracing is the essence here, you may softly sigh yourself out, feeling treated not just to a dinner but a dearly constructed culinary rhapsody fit enough to demand a standing ovation—if only you didn't have to wade through tightly nestled tables to rise. — Penelope Savory