London Restaurant Recommendation23 Nina, Marylebone — Come for the Rigatoni, Stay (After 6) for the Tiramisu

Here’s the thing about dining out in London in 2025: we still want to go out. We still wish for the flicker of candlelight across glossy ceramic plates and the sound of a Negroni being stirred at the bar like it’s the overture to something beautiful. But we’d prefer, if possible, not to remortgage our flats for a plate of food that looks like it was arranged by a nervous florist with commitment issues.

Enter Nina — a new Italian-ish venture from the ever-expanding Pachamama Group, who, if you’ve been keeping tabs, are now responsible for roughly half of West London’s Instagram lighting. It’s on Thayer Street in Marylebone, which feels about right. If London restaurants were arranged like a seating plan at a wedding, Marylebone is where you’d put the tasteful cousin with expensive shoes and a disdain for anything too “try hard.” Inside, Nina is calm. Smooth. Beige in the way a cashmere jumper is elegant, deliberate, not remotely dull. There’s a mirrored bar that gleams like a Bond villain’s bathtub and silver accents that catch the light as if to whisper, “See? Casual… but not too casual.”

Now, the food. We begin with grissini, those long, pencil-thin breadsticks that are often used to prod people across the table rather than eat. Here, they’re decent. Crisp, clean, a quiet handshake before the meal gets going.

Then comes a fritto misto, code for “we fried everything we could find in the vicinity of the sea and stuck it on a plate.” It’s light, thankfully — not a grease bomb — and anchored by a standout blue belly prawn with a sweet, creamy centre that tastes like it remembers where it came from. The calamari is a little bashful, like it wasn’t entirely sure it wanted to be invited to the party, but the shrimp brought charm, swagger, and a plus-one no one minded.

Caesar salad arrives next, because there are rules, and one of them is that every respectable modern Italian restaurant must have one. This version is a bit more restrained than its American cousin, less wallop of anchovy, more soft-spoken parmesan and crisped lettuce that’s been handled with the sort of care usually reserved for IVF embryos. And then — the cacio e pepe. Of course, every London pasta menu must now include it. This one is rigatoni — boldly anti-Roman but we’ll allow it — with a confit egg yolk oozing across it like it’s in the middle of a sensual opera. It’s rich. It’s glossy. It’s possibly flirting with me. And honestly? I’m not mad.

Next, lamb chops alla scottadito. Literally “burned fingers”, which is exactly what you’ll get if you dive in without warning. They arrive pink and proud, smoky from the grill, seasoned like someone cared. There’s a moment where I stop talking, because the flavour requires a moment of respectful silence. The charred green beans are a worthy supporting act. They’re not reinventing the wheel, but they’re blistered and well-dressed and not the afterthought they could have been.

And then dessert. I wanted the tiramisu, obviously. I deserved the tiramisu. But it turns out it’s only available after 6 pm, like a pensioner’s bus pass. Something to do with it being freshly made each day — a charming detail, though slightly less charming when it means you can’t have it. Instead, I was handed a lemon meringue semifreddo, which sounds like something you might win in a raffle at a Tuscan bake-off, but was in fact sharp, silky, and refreshing enough to earn its keep. Service? Polished. Friendly. They know their menu and they’re drilled — but not in that over-rehearsed way that makes you feel like you're being served by a troupe of ex-theatre kids on the brink of burnout.

So, Nina. Is it breaking culinary boundaries? No. But that’s not the point. It’s about comfort, done well. Familiar things presented with polish and affection. In a city where rents are rising faster than a sourdough starter and everyone’s trying to eat out without spiralling into debt, it’s the sort of place that hits the right note: casual enough to feel relaxed, considered enough to feel special. A restaurant that understands the mood of the moment without pandering to it. And maybe next time, I’ll arrive after 6 pm.