Trogolo, Notting Hill: London's dire streak of Italian spots continues — Review

Every B-Side review is earned, never bought.

Before booking, you are reminded that the table covers only 90 minutes. Once you are seated, you are reminded of this again. It’s an increasing custom in London dining this decade, that looks to squeeze every penny out of every table. But my argument is simple — if you try to emulate a trattoria atmosphere, there’s nothing that curbs that lounge-like feeling than immediately being told of your expiration time. This isn’t Italian-like hospitality, it’s British scrooge-ness. And for a Tuscan bar filled with so many cases of wine, there simply isn’t enough time to linger, sip and chat away — like in the Tuscan countryside. And it’s this simple reason alone to never consider coming back again. I like my French bistros and Italian trattorias for days I want to escape the overwhelming city life. Fast-paced efficiency and time-keeping that is embedded in London’s DNA has its merits, but it sucks the soul out of spontaneous days where I would much rather be sipping on a glass of wine with a friend and seeing where the wind takes me. It’s what I admire most about Italian culture — where people simply be. You won’t find this here.

The interior isn’t doing too much. Rustic wood is the main theme, akin to the Tuscan scene alongside the paper menus with their unique art deco style font. Wine fridges are packed out in display and the lighting is generously warm. My biggest gripe was the cheap napkins that kept malting white specs on my clothes.

My disdain for the Italian scene in London is not without reason. Most fail to commit to the Italian marinade — picture a nonna spending her entire afternoon slow cooking a batch of tomato sauce with the freshest of ingredients. The food at Trogolo suffers the same issue as with many London spots. You can simply tell that the kitchens are breezing through the ingredients. The menu is not that demanding either, it’s a foray of charcuterie boards, pastas, sandwiches and cured meats. Not exactly the most ambitious of feasts. The Pan briosciato e carne condita, a brioche served with beef tartare and olive oil, went down smoothly whilst the artichoke and grilled cheese Formaggio fuso e carciofi viola was far too oily and was pretty lacklustre. We followed up with the Pappardelle al cinghiale, wild boar pasta, that you can tell had some cooking time but was lacking any seasoning. The Pollo al burro, butter chicken, paired well with the glaze but it was poorly paired with the Broccolo fiolara alla salvia, which is a lot of words to describe bland broccoli that was over-boiled, watery and drenched in a tasteless green oil. The Patate alla salvia arrosto, roast potatoes with sage, came crisp but they were so small it made it far too cumbersome to put fork to tato’. The last and most unforgivable crime of the night, however, came with a helping of Tiramisu — served on a plate straight from the dishwasher. By the time we dug in, it was a melted swamp of textures. Non si può mangiare.

What would have helped to go down with the meal was the wine bar offering, which set you back £18 for a baby pour of inexpensive Tuscan wine. I wish I would be able to tell you more about the different red’s tried, but service was not to the Italian standard. Having asked several waiters three times for a glass of red, our time was up for the table booking. They had forgotten our wine. Quite the metaphor given flavour, hospitality and Italian soul was absent, too.

Trogolo
296 Westbourne Grove, Notting Hill, London W11 2PS
trogolo.uk

Tuscan bar and trattoria from the Petersham Nurseries family.
Neighbourhood bar feel with Florentine cooking and wine selection; dishes and sharing plates from ~£15–£35; service charge applies.
Open Wed 5–11.30PM; Thu–Sat 12–11.30PM; Sun 12–5PM; Mon–Tue closed.
Dress code: Relaxed.