In town to see the birthplace of an ancestor and with a filthy hangover from watch The Agèd Damnèd the night before I felt I couldn’t visit Pimlico without paying homage to the great Alexandra (who died in 20212 alas) in her neighbourhood restaurant of choice, O’Sole Mio. I hadn’t been there since she was alive and felt a twinge of betrayal at visiting without Denize but hell, I thought, it might not even be running.

So the first welcome surprise was that it was still there, this not always being the case in these post pandemic times. The second welcome surprise was that it was still being run by the same Italian family after a ten year gap in visits.

The third welcome surprise was that the menu is pretty much unchanged – classic Italian dishes, pizzas and a smattering of specials on the board. The only alteration is that they now do gluten-free pasta, which was very much welcome news to cousin Kirsty.

My dining companions not having spent the previous evening pogoing to punk classics they weren’t interested in a starter.* But I was, so I had a caprese salad which did simple well – good cheese, flavoursome tomato, generous heap of basil. By the time I’d finished it I’d finally got the riff to New Rose (Nah nah nah NAHHHHH, bubba bubba bubba bubba bubba, Nah nah nah NAHHHHH – oh, there you go it’s back for the day) out of my head, partly due to the improbable sound of Wham’s Freedom coming out of OSM’s speakers.

A main of seafood linguine was delicious – freshly made pasta (everything is fresh, the waiter regretted that he couldn’t bring us bread with our olives since it hadn’t been made yet (we were quite early for lunch)) and plenty of the fishy stuff in a well-balanced sauce. Can I remember the wine? Well, it was a double dinner day so I can’t be sure but I know it went down well enough.

As a tribute to Alexandra I had a dessert (‘Everyone has a pudding stomach darling!’) of three sorbets, which went the way of all sweet. With coffee Kirsty was introduced to the delights of Strega, which thanks to Enderby has become a weapon of choice for delivering an afternoon headache whenever it’s on the menu. And thanks to the waiter, who then also brought us a bonus Limoncello each, which we wolfed down before going on the hunt for more random ancestor-related properties (them) and a comfortable bench in the V&A to prepare for staying awake in the cinema (me).

8/10

* The Damned, to be honest, were a disappointment. Not in that they didn’t rock, they were admirably energetic for men of their age and lived experience. But Monty on keyboards I could quite cheerfully have whacked with his own Moog. And I mean terminated Joe Pesci-style, not spanked in the head like a third of The Stooges. Mind you, his solos did give me the opportunity to go for a wazz and get the beers in without missing any guitar thrashing.

To see where else I’ve been click on the google map below.

Food London Music Food Italian London