Pasta perfection: where Italian dreams come true

The queue at Padella has become something of a London ritual, a gastronomic pilgrimage that snakes through Borough Market's cobbled streets. On my first visit, I found myself among the faithful, pressed against the steamy windows while watching the hypnotic dance of forks twirling through clouds of freshly minted pasta. Some might balk at the prospect of waiting, but trust this seasoned critic — few London dining experiences are more rewarding. Their pappardelle with eight-hour Dexter beef shin ragu (£12.50) is the stuff of legend — silky ribbons of pasta embracing meat so tender it surrenders at the mere sight of a fork. Cacio e pepe (£8.50) is another masterpiece, deceptively simple yet perfectly executed. Paired with a crisp Verdicchio from the tightly curated wine list, it's the kind of meal that makes you want to hug the chef. The counter seating adds a theatrical element — watching the pasta masters at work is better than any West End show. Average bill per person: £35.

Pushing open the mint-green door of Lina Stores feels like stepping into a time capsule of 1950s Italy, albeit with a thoroughly modern Soho twist. The basement dining room, with its white-tiled walls and vintage photographs, oozes charm without trying too hard. I've developed an almost embarrassing addiction to their agnolotti with black truffle and ricotta (£16.50) — each little parcel is a perfect hit of earthy luxury. The real showstopper, though, is 30-egg yolk tagliolini with butter and Parmesan (£14.50). It's so rich it should pay taxes in Monaco, but I couldn't care less about my cholesterol levels when faced with such sublime indulgence. Their house negroni is possibly the best I've had in London, and believe me, I've conducted extensive research in this department. The staff treat the pasta with the reverence of museum curators handling ancient artefacts, and rightly so. Average bill per person: £45.

Let me paint you a picture: prosecco slushies, vibrant wall art, and the constant symphony of pasta being rolled, cut, and shaped before your eyes. Pastaio is what would happen if a traditional Italian nonna went to art school and opened a restaurant in Soho. Their wild mushroom tagliatelle (£13.50) is an umami bomb that could convert the most devoted carnivore to vegetarianism (temporarily, at least). The langoustine, chilli, and tomato calamarata (£16.50) is a dish I dream about — perfectly al dente rings of pasta swimming in a sauce that tastes like the Mediterranean Sea decided to flirt with a tomato. The communal tables might not be everyone's cup of tea (or glass of prosecco), but they add to the bustling, convivial atmosphere that makes this place so special. Average bill per person: £40.

If I had to choose my last meal on earth, Bancone's silk handkerchiefs with walnut butter and confit egg yolk (£12.50) would be a strong contender. There's something almost profound about watching that golden yolk break and cascade over the delicate pasta squares — it's food poetry in motion. The restaurant itself is a study in understated elegance, with the marble counter taking centre stage. Their brown shrimp and seaweed butter bucatini (£15.50) is a masterclass in umami, and duck ragù tortellini (£14.50) could make an Italian grandmother weep with joy. The wine list is a carefully curated journey through Italy's lesser-known regions, and the sommelier's recommendations have yet to disappoint me. The counter seats are prime real estate — book ahead and thank me later. Average bill per person: £48.

There's something about walking into Café Murano that always makes my shoulders drop an inch. Perhaps it's the way the warm lighting catches the wine glasses, or how the gentle murmur of conversation echoes off the walls — but this place has become my sanctuary of sophisticated comfort. I've spent countless evenings at my favourite corner banquette, watching the well-heeled St James's crowd drift in and out while I lose myself in Angela Hartnett's osso buco tortellini (£16). Their seasonal gnocchi (market price) has become my personal barometer for the changing seasons — I've tasted it with spring's first peas, summer's sweet tomatoes, autumn's wild mushrooms, and winter's rich cheese. The wine list has educated my palate over the years, particularly their Italian regional wines by the glass, and the staff have become familiar faces knowing exactly when to leave me alone with my pasta and when to share their infectious enthusiasm for a new dish. Average bill per person: £65.

I remember the exact moment I realised Manteca was going to be different — it was when my fork first twirled through their brown crab cacio e pepe (£16). Here was a dish that had no right to work, yet left me questioning everything I thought I knew about pasta. It was a cloudy Wednesday evening, and I'd dragged myself across London, grumpy and rain-soaked, only to have my mood transformed by what I now consider the most innovative pasta dish in the city. The nose-to-tail philosophy here speaks to my soul — their ox cheek fazzoletti (£15) has rendered me speechless more times than I care to admit (much to my dining companions' amusement). I love perching at the counter, watching the kitchen work their magic against the backdrop of exposed brick and steel, while the sommelier introduces me to yet another natural wine that will haunt my dreams. It's raw, it's real, and it's revolutionising what pasta can be in London. Average bill per person: £55.

Trullo feels like the neighbourhood Italian restaurant of your dreams that ruins you for all others — the sort of place where I've celebrated birthdays, nursed heartbreaks, and written some of my most passionate reviews. Their beef shin ragu with pappardelle (£14.50) has become my personal compass for pasta perfection — I've watched them roll the pasta minutes before service, the kitchen perfuming the air with promises of what's to come. Last week, I brought my most discerning Italian friend here for the ricotta gnocchi with sage butter (£12.50), and even he fell silent with appreciation — each pillow of pasta achieving that ethereal balance between cloudlike lightness and comforting substance. The two-floor space has become my second home, though I'll always choose the upstairs dining room on sunny days, where the light streams in just so. I've watched the seasons change through their menu, each visit bringing new delights, and somehow, impossibly, getting better every time. Average bill per person: £58.

If I could bottle the atmosphere at Bocca di Lupo, I'd make a fortune. This Soho institution manages to combine the buzz of a busy Italian trattoria with the sophistication of a high-end London restaurant. The open kitchen provides dinner and a show, particularly if you're perched at the counter (my favourite spot). Their orecchiette with 'nduja, red onion and tomato (£14/£20) packs enough heat to warm you on the coldest London evening, while spaghetti with lobster, mussels and ginger (£16/£23) is a clever twist on traditional seafood pasta. The regional focus of the menu means you're essentially taking a culinary tour of Italy, and the wine list follows suit. The staff's knowledge of both food and wine is impressive, and their genuine enthusiasm for what they're serving is contagious. Get a counter seat if you can — watching the kitchen at work is half the fun. Average bill per person: £70.