The first thing we loved was the decor, effortlessly beautiful and stylish, but warm, polished, and inviting. And right at the heart of the restaurant was a stunning olive tree, stretching upward and anchoring the whole space. It was such a striking touch and gave everything that unmistakable Italian authenticity, like you’ve been transported somewhere far sunnier than West London.

Despite how busy it was, the staff were genuinely fantastic. Attentive without hovering, but friendly and fun. We spent quite some time perusing the menu, but we never felt rushed, nor did we have to wait long for anything. It made the whole experience feel relaxed and easy, which isn’t always guaranteed in a packed London spot.

Now, the cocktails are absolutely worth mentioning. Beautifully presented and created with care, they were as delicious as they looked. The kind of drinks you take a moment to admire before diving in, and of course, one is never enough. Whether you’re starting the evening or settling in for a long dinner, the cocktails were the perfect beginning to what was to become the perfect dining experience.

The real star of the show was the food. Every dish felt thoughtfully put together, full of flavour, and unmistakably Italian in the best way, simple ingredients done exceptionally well. The kind of food that doesn’t need to shout because it’s just genuinely, deeply satisfying. You could tell there was real attention to quality, from the first bite to the last. We kept it simple and shared a few starters, olives, bruschetta with fresh tomatoes and basil and house focaccia, all exceptionally delicious. Then we both chose the same main course, Garlic Prawns with Datterino Tomatoes and fresh pasta; the prawns were of the King variety, large and juicy, and the sauce was completely divine. We then thought better of having a dessert each and shared a traditional Tiramisu, which was light and creamy, made with very obviously freshly prepared espresso. I’ve decided I probably won’t ever share a dessert again; that was indeed a rookie error!

What we loved most was how the whole experience came together: the atmosphere, the setting, the service, the food, it all just worked. It’s the kind of restaurant you go to for a special occasion but could just as easily return to on a random evening when you want something reliably great.

All in all, COMO Garden is one of those rare finds that manages to feel both exciting and comfortable at the same time.

A little pocket of Italy in Kensington, full of life, flavour, and charm. We’ll definitely be back.

W: COMO Garden
A: 37-45 Kensington High St, London W8 5ED
T: 020 7937 7287

Written by Luxuria Lifestyle’s Group Editor Debbie Stone

Set on a terrace above the sands, with sweeping views of the sea yawning out to the Channel Islands, this elegant restaurant has become Montecito’s go-to dinner spot. Hosting more stars than a starry night, with everyone from Gwyneth Paltrow to Leonardo DiCaprio making a celeb appearance, the restaurant delivers on chic atmosphere, delectable dishes and desirable farm-to-table ingredients that smell as fresh as wild Gaviota flowers. A bouquet of aromas wafted off our introductory plate, which set the scene for the four-course dinner ahead of us, each plate offering a taste of what makes Santa Barbara so unique. As the elderly waiter explained, “Massimo Falsino aims to give Santa Barbara ingredients an Italian spin,” taking us on a journey through the local countryside while staying true to his Roma heritage. I decided to take the Italian inspo to heart, ordering an Aperol Spritz and giving the starters a very Italian chef’s kiss, which got an eye roll from my date. To be fair, it really does feel like you’re dining seaside in Capri, especially when my plate of burrata hit the table, accompanied by a 25-year-aged balsamic and peppered with hand-picked berries from the sun-dappled cliffs of Gaviota. “Perfecto!” I exclaimed, with an American accent that could have been mistaken for Brad Pitt in In Glorious Bastards. Again, more eye-rolls.

Each ensuing dish proved why Caruso’s has both a Michelin star and a Michelin Green Star, serving the highest quality of ingredients paired with the highest quality of plate presentation, concept and taste, all paired exquisitely with local wines by the on-site sommelier, whose Pinot Noir pairing with dry-aged duck should be studied in history books. In our second course, we savoured gnoccetti topped with caviar, abalone and uni that tasted so fresh it could have been caught while we were enjoying our spritzes. The soft texture of the gnocceti, paired with the squishy, tender uni, made for a ripe balance that melted on the tongue like butter, yet showcased a layer of flavours that could only come from a master chef who can balance brininess with acids and herbs in a relaxed, artful measure. It’s no wonder this dish is a fan favourite. While menus change every week, you can always expect to find Falsani’s gnoccetti on the menu.

Having started cooking at age 15, Falsini’s culinary talents have taken him to luxury hotels in Abu Dhabi and Napa Valley, but his style remains rooted in authentic Italian cuisine. As the sun dipped below crashing waves, and cotton candy glass morphed into sheets of cobalt sea at crepuscle, Falsini brought out another Californian staple, salty halibut, cooked tenderly to perfection over white wine sauce. With each passing bite, washed down by a peppery neutral oak Chardonnay, I found myself astounded by the flavours Fassini was able to conjure. Halibut can easily be served dry, underseasoned, but this halibut was prepared with the vivid complexity of a Renaissance painting.

As for dessert? For you, sweet treat fans, it’s my pleasure to report that Caruso’s dolci options are playful, precisely arranged museum-pieces that look as immaculate as they taste. Il Mandarino was an olive cake resting under yoghurt gelato that had subtle hints of tangerine and profuse explosions of mint that would make for the world’s greatest toothpaste. Could you trap this Genie in a toothpaste bottle? Washed down with local desert wines, I have to say there isn’t a more opulent desert in Santa Barbara. In fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better restaurant in Santa Barbara, period. From the moment the sun peeked through the clouds, Caruso’s offered a heavenly display of Italian cuisine that shined ethereally like a Santa Barbara sunset.

W: Rosewood Hotels Miramar Beach Montecito
W: Caruso’s
A: Rosewood Miramar Beach, 1759 South Jameson Lane, Montecito CA 93108

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Written by Asher Luberto for Luxuria Lifestyle International

Opened in 1998 and housed within a Grade II listed former banking hall in the heart of the Square Mile, 1 Lombard Street is a restaurant whose setting shapes the entire experience.

Inside, the room is every bit as impressive as you might hope. The fabulous glass cupola dome gives the restaurant a real sense of grandeur, while the circular bar area beneath acts as a wonderful centrepiece. It is elegant, but not intimidating; grand, but still warm. I was especially taken by the contrast between the crisp white tables and bar top and the rich green of the chairs and bar stools. It felt like a fitting nod to the building’s banking history, with the green bringing to mind money, wealth and prosperity. At lunchtime, there was a real buzz, with plenty of business people gathered over meetings and long lunches, which felt entirely right for its location. Yet with that dome overhead and the sheer regality of the room, I could just as easily imagine it in the evening as the setting for a truly special celebration meal.

The drinks menu made an immediate impression. I loved that a selection of aperitifs appears right at the top, setting the tone for a meal that feels considered from the outset. I tried the Twinkle Hill, made with vodka and elderflower cordial, topped with Lombard Street Champagne and finished with lemon twist and mint. It was a brilliant start to lunch: light, refreshing and celebratory, with just enough elegance to make the occasion feel elevated.

Equally memorable was the Amaretti Sour mocktail, featuring Lyre’s Amaretti, orgeat, lemon juice and Ms Better’s Bitters Foamer. This was a real highlight. It tasted like sour Parma Violets in the best possible way, with that perfect balance of sweet and sharp that kept calling me back for more sips. It felt like something naughty, but it wasn’t, and I loved that contradiction. A sophisticated drink, but also playful and moreish.

The menu manages to feel both refined and reassuringly familiar. There is a definite sense of occasion in some of the more elevated dishes — the Devon crab and caviar with crème fraîche, for example — but also plenty for those who simply want a hearty, classic British meal — think fish and chips, pie or steak. The inclusion of regularly changing specials also adds to that variety, with dishes such as soup, pie and fish shifting depending on seasonality and availability.

A wide range of starters is available, but also a nice selection of snacks, which offers a lighter alternative if you don’t want to commit to a full first course. That feels particularly sensible here, given the generous portion sizes of the mains. On the recommendation of our waiter, I opted for the ham hock, pea and mint soup, which is not ordinarily something I would choose. I am so glad I did. The ham, sitting in the middle of the bowl on arrival, was delicious: salty, rich and clearly good quality, adding another layer of flavour to the dish. I had been slightly concerned that the mint might be overpowering, as it is not a flavour I usually lean towards in savoury dishes, but it was beautifully judged. Instead, what came through was the lovely creamy flavour of the peas, which worked perfectly against the saltiness of the ham hock. Served with a warm, fresh cheese scone that was soft, comforting and ideal for dipping, it was a wonderfully satisfying start.

Among the mains, the Suffolk red pork chop with Bermondsey mushrooms and mustard gravy stood out to me. The pork chop was one of the biggest and best I have ever had. Pork can so easily be dry, but this was beautifully succulent and full of flavour. The Bermondsey mushrooms deserve special mention, too. I am not typically someone who would opt for mushrooms, but these were something else entirely: large, almost crisp in texture, and so far removed from the sliminess that can often put people off. To me, the mark of a great restaurant is being able to take something you would not normally choose and turn it into something delicious, something that makes complete sense on the plate. That was exactly the case here. A side of creamy mashed potato brought everything together perfectly.

Dessert was equally polished. Between us, we had the vanilla crème brûlée and the apple tart with Chantilly cream, both of which felt like perfect endings to a substantial lunch. I wanted something that was not too heavy, which the apple tart delivered beautifully. Fine slices of apple lay neatly over a tart base, with a perfect oval scoop of Chantilly cream on top. The crème brûlée had that lovely crack on the surface without being overdone, and a smooth, creamy layer beneath. Both desserts felt elegant, restrained and the perfect end to a delicious meal.

Part of 1 Lombard Street’s appeal is that it offers more than one kind of dining experience. Their Friday Steak Night adds a more relaxed end-of-week energy, with butcher’s cut steak, sauces and bottomless fries at the centre of the offer, alongside Friday cocktails that sound ideal for easing into the weekend.  Their Sunday roasts are another strong draw, which feels entirely in keeping with both the grandeur of the room and the restaurant’s classic City identity, with British roasts made from quality British ingredients. It is easy to see how 1 Lombard Street can be many things at once: a polished lunch spot, an after-work Friday destination, and somewhere to gather for a proper Sunday meal in the heart of London.

1 Lombard Street succeeds not simply because the food is excellent, though it is, and not simply because of its location, though few addresses feel more fitting. It succeeds because it understands its own identity. This is a restaurant that belongs to its setting: a grand former banking hall in one of London’s most historic and recognisable business districts, still carrying the energy of the City while offering style, character and occasion in equal measure. For business lunches, it feels perfectly judged. For evening celebrations, I can imagine it being quietly spectacular. And in a part of London so often defined by movement and momentum, 1 Lombard Street offers something rather rare: a chance to pause beneath that remarkable dome and take in the grandeur of the setting.

W: 1 Lombard Street
T: +44 (0) 20 7929 6611
E: Reservations

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Written by Luxuria Lifestyle’s Sam Mead

Newly opened in the heart of Mayfair, Chargal brings a refined new contemporary perspective to Turkish Mediterranean dining. At Chargal, Turkish culinary heritage is interpreted through a contemporary lens.

Guests can begin with a selection of cold and hot mezze, from mixed meze with cacık, muhammara and hummus, to red prawn carpaccio with pomegranate, olive oil and lime, or the restaurant’s mantı lamb dumplings served with smoked yoghurt and Aleppo chilli oil. Dishes such as wagyu köfte piyaz, chargrilled octopus with herb dressing and smoked paprika, and chargrilled halloumi with cherry and hot honey underline Chargal’s balance of comfort, creativity and finesse.

From the mangal and grill, Chargal leans further into its fire-led identity with dishes including pistachio lamb cutlets with pomme purée and honey pomegranate molasses, sarma beyti, adana, and a selection of wagyu cuts, alongside standout seafood such as Greek wild sea bass with smoked bay leaf, honey lemon dressing and samphire salad. Vegetarian dishes are given equal consideration, with plates such as brown butter sweet potato with kumquat, damascus rose and smoked almond praline reflecting the kitchen’s more nuanced side.

Set across three distinct spaces, a lively ground-floor bar, a more intimate first-floor dining room, and a lounge below for later-evening drinks. Chargal has been designed to move effortlessly from lunch and dinner to celebrations, private dining and cocktails. The experience is rooted in what the restaurant describes as “fire, craft and the timeless art of hospitality,” expressed through warm materials, soft light and an atmosphere of understated luxury.

With its blend of Turkish heritage, Eastern Mediterranean influence and contemporary Mayfair polish, Chargal arrives as a distinctive new destination for London diners seeking bold flavour, beautiful design and a more elevated take on modern Turkish cuisine.

W: Chargal
T: 02033972277
E: Bookings

Inside, it is small in the right way. Tables close enough to create a low, collective murmur, candles doing most of the lighting, the sort of soft shadows and gentle hum that settles somewhere behind your shoulders. Coats disappear, chairs are shifted half an inch closer to the table, and suddenly you’re sitting rather than arriving.

It has that particular energy of somewhere that runs on a particular kind of attentiveness. It says simply – order widely, drink well, stay longer than intended.

Very early on, before food, before even deciding properly on wine, there’s a feeling of quiet competence. Not slick, not choreographed. Just people who know what they’re doing. The team put it simply: “the restaurant is built around care – for ingredients, for technique, for timing, and most importantly for people, with the hope that guests feel that everything, from the welcome to how the meal unfolds, is done with intention and generosity”. It sounds obvious, but in practice it is rarer than it should be.

We started with champagne and, as these things tend to go, simply continued.

There’s always a moment when you can tell whether bubbles belong in a place or are merely tolerated – Champagne is a good personality test for a room. Here it felt normal – glasses placed without fuss, topped up without interruption, as though ordering champagne on a normal evening was the most reasonable thing in the world. Which, frankly, it is.

The savoury choux arrived first; still warm, airy, splitting open to reveal something deeply savoury and unapologetically rich. One of those bites that makes conversation pause for a second, then resume with slightly more enthusiasm. The scallops followed, properly coloured, sweet and clean, with nothing unnecessary crowding the plate. Just careful cooking, a light hand, and the confidence not to overthink it.

Then the vegetables (and I mean that in the best possible way). Burnt carrot arrived glossy and faintly smoky, its sweetness sharpened just enough to keep things interesting, while beetroot brought depth and earthiness without tipping into heaviness. Between the two of them, they managed to make the table go quiet again, which is always a good sign.

What struck me early on was how nothing arrived in a hurry. Plates slipped in between sentences. Glasses were refilled before I’d clocked they were empty. The staff seemed to possess that rare skill of being everywhere and nowhere at once, the dining room ticking over without anyone being yanked out of conversation to confirm they were enjoying themselves.

When I asked how they describe the cooking, the answer was disarmingly straightforward: “honest, classically grounded, quietly evolving”. It tracks. There is no sense of chasing novelty here, only of refining something that already works.

By then, the room had settled into that easy middle phase of dinner – coats forgotten, voices softer, tables leaning in rather than sitting upright. Our first bottle was long gone, replaced with something suggested in a way that felt more like a conversation than a recommendation.

For mains, we did the obvious thing and over-ordered, because restraint is overrated when sharing is encouraged. The orzotto was doing everything a dish like that should: creamy without tipping into gluey, grains holding their shape, flavour built in layers rather than poured on top. It tasted calm, if that makes sense – confident in its seasoning, comfortable in its richness, not trying to impress anyone who wasn’t sitting right there. The aubergine was deeply satisfying in a different way, collapsing at the centre, caramelised edges carrying just enough smoke to keep things interesting. Between the two, we fell into that familiar rhythm of passing plates back and forth without really acknowledging it.

The team mentioned something I kept thinking about while eating: that there’s always a dish on the menu which looks simple but represents what they care about most – good produce, restraint, technique doing its job without drawing attention. It’s a philosophy you can feel rather than see.

What I liked most, though, was the lack of performance. No one explaining flavours unprompted, no sense of trying to guide your reaction. Just the steady pleasure of eating and talking.

Time did what it does in places like this – it stretched a little without anyone noticing. The room filled, softened, shifted. New arrivals slipped in; others lingered. Nobody seemed in a hurry to turn tables, which is perhaps the most luxurious thing of all.

The team confirmed my assumptions that they were very conscious not to open something trend-driven or built for social media. There were no gimmicks, just somewhere people come back to because it feels genuine. You can feel that in the details: letting the meal unfold rather than enforcing order, building a menu that rewards sharing, lighting the room for faces rather than photographs, training a team to read tables instead of reciting scripts, trusting that if you make people comfortable, they will probably drink another bottle and tell their friends.

We looked at dessert seriously (the kind of earnest consideration that suggests real interest) and then admitted defeat. I remember thinking I’d happily have both options if appetite allowed, which is probably the most honest compliment you can give.

Coffee arrived instead, strong and exactly when it should, prolonging the evening just enough.

Before leaving, I asked the team what they hoped people would say on the walk home. The answer was telling: “that guests talk about how relaxed they felt, how well they were looked after — ideally without analysing too much – and simply want to come back”. It is a modest ambition, and perhaps that is precisely why it works.

There is also a quiet thoughtfulness behind the scenes. The team spoke about working with smaller producers who prioritise quality over scale, letting good ingredients guide decisions rather than forcing dishes into fixed ideas; an approach that feels consistent with everything else about the place: attentive, grounded, unforced.

Stepping back outside, the night felt softer than when we’d arrived, as though time had slipped slightly. It’s not something you can manufacture – more the result of a hundred small decisions made well.

I walked away full, content, and already wondering what I’d order next time.

Dessert, for a start.

W: Oui Madame Restaurant

Written by Emma Blunt for Luxuria Lifestyle International

From the moment you step inside, Tigermilk takes you back to what you would imagine a typical Latin American town. The interiors are dynamic and inviting, with towering cacti, mirrored ceilings and soft, romantic lighting creating an ambience that feels completely glamorous. A central bar hums with energy as cocktails are expertly shaken, while comfy seating and lush greenery soften the space, giving it the feel of a chic South American hideaway.

We began the evening with the Pisco N’ Roses, an elegant cocktail that perfectly encapsulated the spirit of the menu. Light, aromatic and delicately balanced, it offered sharp notes combined with a light sweetness, giving a refreshing and refined start to the meal.

The menu encourages a sharing style of dining, with dishes designed to be shared across the table. One of the first to arrive was the Truffle Nachos, a luxurious interpretation of a familiar favourite. Generous yet beautifully composed, the earthy richness of truffle elevated the dish, adding a layer of indulgence that made it feel both playful and sophisticated.

Equally memorable were the Sweet & Creamy Tacos, which delivered a delightful harmony of textures. Soft tortillas encased a rich, velvety filling balanced by gentle sweetness, creating a dish that was both comforting and quietly decadent.

For the main course, the Salmón a la Parrilla proved to be a highlight. Grilled to perfection, the salmon was tender and delicately smoky, its natural richness enhanced by subtle seasoning that allowed the quality of the fish to shine. Alongside it, the Carne Asada showcased beautifully cooked beef, robust in flavour and satisfyingly succulent, embodying the bold culinary traditions that inspire Tigermilk’s menu.

The Roasted Sweet Potatoes provided the perfect accompaniment, their caramelised edges and natural sweetness offering warmth and balance to the more savoury elements of the meal.

Throughout the evening, service remained polished yet relaxed, striking that increasingly rare balance between attentiveness and effortless hospitality. The staff navigated the bustling dining room with ease, ensuring that the experience felt seamless from beginning to end.

What ultimately sets Tigermilk apart is its ability to capture the vibrant energy of Latin American dining while maintaining a distinctly contemporary London sensibility. It is lively without feeling chaotic, stylish without becoming overly formal — the sort of place where an impromptu dinner can easily evolve into an evening that stretches long into the night.

For those seeking a restaurant that combines striking interiors, confident flavours and a spirited atmosphere, Tigermilk delivers a dining experience that feels both indulgent and unforgettable, a welcome addition to London’s dynamic culinary scene.

A: Tigermilk, 127 Charing Cross Road, WC2H 0EW, London
W: Tigermilk

Written by Luxuria Lifestyle’s Sports Editors Josh and Phoebe

Formerly home to Zuaya for eight years, the site has been completely reimagined as a Tuscan inspired restaurant built around warmth, generosity and craft.

Bottega 35 brings hand rolled pasta, live fire cooking and a carefully curated wine list to W8, blending rustic Italian soul with a polished Kensington setting. It is designed as a neighbourhood restaurant that works equally well for relaxed weekday lunches and celebratory evenings.

The menu focuses on classic Tuscan flavours executed with confidence. Hand rolled pasta sits at the heart of the offering, including pappardelle ragu and mafaldine finished tableside in a pecorino wheel with truffle.

From the grill, guests can expect ribeye, house meatballs and lamb cutlets. Seafood dishes include seafood tagliolini, pan seared seabass with tomato and capers, and garlic prawns with Datterino tomatoes and olives.

Desserts remain rooted in Italian tradition with table served tiramisu, torta Susanna and classic cannoli.

The interiors were designed by Marta Gaset, founder of Marta Gaset Design Studio. Inspired by the artisanal restaurants of Tuscany, the design makes full use of the building’s two floors, high ceilings and natural light.

Quote from Marta Gaset, founder of Marta Gaset Design Studio:

“Bottega 35 was a particularly special project. We wanted to capture the spirit of Tuscan dining while respecting the character of the building. We travelled to Italy to source reclaimed furniture creating a space that feels timeless, warm and authentic.”

For the Zandi brothers, Bottega 35 represents evolution as much as opening. Quote from Alberto and Arian Zandi, founders of Emerald Hospitality Group “Kensington is part of our journey. Bottega 35 is about growth and refinement. Fire, pasta, wine and atmosphere. It is Tuscan in spirit but very much London in energy.

W: Bottega 35

It catches the edge of the fish, moves once across the surface and disappears. There is no flourish in the gesture. The torch is held low, close enough that you can see the proteins tighten, the surface shift from translucent to opaque by degrees. A faint scent of heat rises and then is gone. The nigiri is placed in front of me before I’ve quite processed what changed.

Before I can reach for it, Chef Leonard looks up. “Turn it upside down,” he says.

We are seated at a 12-seat counter on the ninth floor above Liverpool Street, the City’s glass towers blinking beyond the windows. This is LUNA Omakase — an intimate, chef-led dining experience tucked above Los Mochis — and there are no menus to scan or dishes to choose. Omakase translates loosely as “I leave it up to you.” The premise is simple: you sit down, and the chef decides everything.

At LUNA Omakase, that decision is shaped by the moon.

The 12-course sequence follows the lunar calendar, and we happened to be dining under the Snow Moon, in its waning phase. Leonard explains that this period is associated with lower human energy. “When our energy dips,” he says, “I design a brighter menu.”

More citrus. More lift. More clarity.

On paper, it could sound esoteric. At the counter, the logic is immediate.

The instruction to turn the nigiri upside down is not affectation; it is engineering. Fish first, he explains. The warmth from the torch should meet the tongue before the rice. Eat in one bite. The rice has been seasoned in the Edomae style — the codified old Tokyo discipline built on precision, structure and restraint. If eaten upright, the rice dulls the temperature contrast. Upside down, the sequence unfolds as intended.

Trust, here, is physical.

There are twelve seats around the counter, and two sittings each evening. Nothing separates diner from chef. Every movement is visible — the indentation of fingers in rice, the millimetre adjustment of a slice of fish, the angle of a brush through soy. At this proximity, technique is not implied. It is exposed.

Between courses, guests can choose either a sake or wine pairing — and whichever route you take, the alignment is deliberate. The pours arrive in step with the food, acidity introduced where richness threatens to linger, weight adjusted in line with the cut of fish. The sake leans structured rather than overtly aromatic, its quiet umami reinforcing the Edomae discipline. The wines are similarly restrained — mineral, clean, never competing. Everything is calibrated.

The early courses arrive almost austere — clean, sharp, deliberately free of overindulgence. A blood orange and chamomile granita cuts rather than soothes. Pickled cucumber and ginger function as calibration tools rather than garnish. Rice carries fish that is largely undisturbed: soy brushed, not dipped; wasabi freshly grated moments before serving, vegetal and bright.

Edomae forms the foundation of the evening — seasoning, proportion, discipline. Over that, Leonard layers what he calls Sosaku. “Sosaku is my experience, my knowledge,” he says. “It’s how I translate tradition.”

That translation reveals itself in subtle shifts rather than grand gestures.

A sweet potato shell shaped like a hard taco appears midway through the sequence, topped with sustainable Italian caviar from Ars Italica. It must be eaten in one bite. The shell fractures audibly. Sweetness lands first, then salinity from the caviar, then a faint smokiness from a seasoning inspired by gusano — the cured worm traditionally associated with mezcal. For a second, it recalls cheddar. There is no dairy present. The illusion is deliberate and fleeting.

The references travel — Japan, Mexico, Italy, the United States — yet the structure remains anchored in Japanese technique. Rice is still shaped by hand. Temperature is still controlled to the degree.

LUNA is also entirely gluten-free, something Chef Leonard mentions almost in passing but which quietly reshapes the kitchen. Traditional eel dishes often rely on sauces containing barley. Here, unagi from Hamada Lake is glazed with a house-made alternative built from permitted chilli and miso paste. Crunch comes from rice cracker and cucumber. Texture is layered carefully, never overcomplicated.

​​Heat returns in measured waves. Binchotan charcoal — dense Japanese oak that burns hot and clean — glows inside the counter, capable of reaching up to 500 degrees Celsius. Fish is passed over it briefly to achieve char without bitterness. A scallop from Hokkaido is seared just enough to warm the exterior while leaving the centre cool and almost sashimi-like. Warm outside, raw within. Texture and temperature pull against each other.

By now, the twelve courses begin to feel tidal. Brightness crests. Depth follows. Then acidity returns.

Midway through the evening, the tone shifts.

“When I was young,” Leonard says, pausing slightly, “if I got a star from my teacher, my mum would make me a special sandwich.”

The Wagyu sando arrives in a small wooden box, resembling a lunch container. It could easily tip into indulgence for its own sake — Kagoshima A5 beef, soft bread, rich glaze. Instead, it feels controlled. The bread is made in-house from tapioca starch and rice flour. Worcestershire and tonkatsu sauces are avoided due to gluten content; instead, a barbecue sauce is built from grilled garlic, ginger, onion and tomato, blended with sake and mirin. Fresh wasabi leaves replace lettuce — both for flavour and because Leonard refuses to waste them.

The beef dissolves quickly, but acidity and sweetness keep it in balance. The story of the lunchbox never overwhelms the dish. The child who worked for a star from his teacher now works at a counter nine floors above the City, translating memory into technique.

Outside the windows, the hyper-modern skyline of the City flickers without self-consciousness. Office lights burn late. Traffic threads through Liverpool Street below. The lunar philosophy sits within that grid without irony.

A smoked chutoro carpaccio follows — chutoro being the richer, marbled centre cut of bluefin tuna. It is smoked at low temperature with oak wood, enough to evoke something almost Iberian in aroma. “Close your eyes,” Leonard suggests. “You will think it’s jamón.” The smokiness plays with expectation, but the fish remains unmistakably itself. Fresh wasabi punctuates the richness. Sorrel cress adds bitterness.

Later, an elevated version of onigiri — the triangular rice snack Leonard ate as a child — appears round and grilled. Warm rice supports cold hamachi tartare, eaten in one bite so the charred exterior gives way to cool, sesame-laced fish. Winter truffle from Umbria sits alongside. The layering is deliberate, almost didactic in its sequencing: warmth, then fat, then aroma.

My name card sits in front of me — Japanese above, English below. In a 12-seat room, anonymity disappears. Each portion is placed directly into specific hands. Leonard and his team move with quiet coordination — brief glances, small nods, no wasted motion.

The sea trout belly from Cornwall is torched just before serving, releasing silky fat. Its roe is placed on top — a quiet reference to life and continuation. Pear cuts through the richness. Acid returns before heaviness has time to linger.

As the evening turns to night, I become aware of how carefully fatigue is avoided. The pacing feels deliberate. Richness never overstays. Brightness reasserts itself before indulgence settles. The waning moon framework — brightness over excess — governs the sequencing of the evening.

By the final plates, there is no crescendo. The arc narrows rather than peaks. Energy feels recalibrated rather than depleted.

“Omakase means I leave it up to you,” Leonard said at the start.

At the beginning of the evening, it sounded like an introduction. By the end, it feels like a measure of trust honoured.

At the counter, that trust becomes tangible. You turn the nigiri upside down because he tells you to. You eat in one bite because the temperature has been calculated to unfold that way. You follow the arc without asking what comes next.

On paper, a menu shaped by lunar phases could drift into something overly conceptual. In practice, it is controlled.

When the lift doors close and we descend back into Liverpool Street, the City resumes at full volume. Office lights glare. Traffic moves with urgency. Above it all, the moon continues its indifferent cycle.

Upstairs, the counter will reset. Rice will be shaped again. Fire will be applied by degrees. Twelve seats will fill.

The flame at the beginning lasted seconds.
The control behind it does not.

W: Luna Omakase
Photo credit: Lochie Fuller Photography

Written by Emma Blunt for Luxuria Lifestyle International

The dining room is stunning, with beautifully dressed tables, polished silverware, and a relaxed atmosphere. The silver service is a rare and wonderful touch, and a tradition lost in so many fine restaurants, sadly. The Sartoria team are extremely professional, demonstrating amazing attention to detail, and they obviously have pride in what they do.

The food was, quite simply, superb. Each dish was thoughtfully presented and bursting with flavour, showcasing exceptional ingredients and masterful technique, from the first bite to the last. The menu gives a perfect balance between authentic Italian dishes and artistic creativity, ensuring plates that are both delicious and exciting. Every course arrived beautifully timed, hot and tasty.

Before dinner, the fabulous bar set the tone for the evening. The cocktail list is imaginative and expertly created, with each drink mixed to perfection. Whether you prefer something classic and refined or bold and fashionable, the bartenders deliver with style and precision. The bar area itself is chic and inviting, featuring great art and classic seating with velvet touches,  ideal for lingering over a pre-dinner aperitif or a post-dinner coffee.

The service is impressive, the staff are knowledgeable and attentive without being intrusive. The team second guess your needs effortlessly, creating a relaxed yet impeccably first-class experience from start to finish. You feel genuinely looked after, which transforms a meal into a memorable event.

As part of the renowned Evolve Hospitality Group, Sartoria clearly upholds the highest standards of excellence. It delivers on every level, the dishes, cocktails, ambience, and service, making it a wonderful destination for anyone looking for a truly chic dining experience in London.

W: Sartoria Restaurant
A: 20 Savile Row, London W1S 3PR
T: 020 7534 7000

Written by Luxuria Lifestyle’s Group Editor Debbie Stone

Blending classic maritime charm with contemporary polish, the restaurant’s interiors feature glossy tiled walls, warm wood panelling and brass accents, alongside subtle nautical touches that nod to Britain’s coastal heritage. The atmosphere strikes a balance between relaxed comfort and upscale dining, making it equally suited to intimate dinners and celebratory gatherings.

The Mayfair location sits moments from the boutiques and galleries of central London, while The Mayfair Chippy Knightsbridge places you just a short stroll from Harrods and the leafy expanses of Hyde Park, an ideal setting for a leisurely lunch or indulgent evening meal after exploring the area.

Afternoon ‘Sea’ for Two

A creative twist on traditional afternoon dining, the Afternoon ‘Sea’ for Two is a visually striking seafood feast available to pre-order. Expect Cornish crab on toast with treacle-cured salmon, celeriac and mustard slaw, and pickled cockles, alongside Atlantic crab claws, king prawns, Carlingford oysters and cooked mussels. Freshly baked sourdough and a selection of house sauces complete the experience. Add a bottle of English sparkling wine to make the occasion even more special.

The Lobster Pot Booth – Knightsbridge

At the Knightsbridge restaurant, guests can reserve the distinctive ‘Lobster Pot’ booth for a more intimate setting. Framed by decorative nautical nets and playful golden lobster accents, and styled with bespoke napkins by designer Lottie Day, the space evokes the spirit of a faraway coastal retreat while remaining firmly in the heart of London.

The experience pairs beautifully with selections from the Knightsbridge gin bar, including the Seaside Breeze, crafted with Chase GB Gin, light tonic, pink peppercorns, seaweed and sea salt,  echoing the fresh, briny flavours of the menu.

The Lobster Pot booth accommodates two guests and must be reserved in advance via the restaurant’s website.

During our visit, the recommendations led to two of Soom’s standout offerings: Wang Galbi Jjim and the Korean BBQ selection. The Wang Galbi Jjim arrived as an impressively generous dish of king-sized beef short ribs, slow-braised and served alongside tender vegetables that had clearly absorbed the depth of flavour from the rich Korean soy sauce. The beef itself was exceptional — rich, deeply savoury, and incredibly tender. What elevated the experience further was the tableside preparation. Our waitress expertly used scissors to cut the meat cleanly from the bone before portioning it into perfectly sized pieces for sharing. It’s a small detail, but one that speaks volumes about the care taken with both the food and the experience. The dish sat comfortably among the other dishes on the table, shared naturally alongside the BBQ platter. Reaching in with chopsticks and eating collectively subtly mirrored Soom’s wider focus on connection and shared moments.

Alongside this, the Korean BBQ element of the menu proved equally rewarding. Opting for the pork platter, the table became the centre of activity, with the circular electric grill encouraging conversation and participation rather than passive dining. The platter arrived with a variety of pork cuts, accompanied by a selection of sides — seasoned spring onion salad, crisp lettuce leaves, pickles, and sauces — inviting diners to explore flavour combinations at their own pace.

Before cooking, we dipped the meat into sea salt, sesame oil, or tofu paste, allowing each cut to absorb flavour as it cooked on the grill. Once ready, it was wrapped in lettuce leaves and topped with pickles and spring onion salad. This layering of flavours and textures is what makes Korean BBQ so engaging, and Soom executes it with clarity and balance. It’s interactive, tactile, and deeply satisfying. The meat itself was lean yet deeply flavoured, a clear indicator of quality sourcing and thoughtful preparation. The standout from the platter was undoubtedly the secreto pork. While thinner cuts might initially suggest something less indulgent, this was quite the opposite. The pork was tender and richly flavoured, with a character reminiscent of the kind of cured meats you might find on a Spanish charcuterie board — only here, served hot and gently caramelised by the grill.

What’s particularly impressive is that Soom had only been open for six weeks when we visited, yet the restaurant operates with the ease and confidence of a long-established favourite. The menu feels refined and assured, the staff move through the space with calm efficiency, and nothing about the experience feels tentative or unfinished. It’s the sort of operational confidence that many restaurants take years to achieve.

Design plays a central role in this sense of confidence. The concept behind Soom revolves around arches, circles, and rounded forms, all rooted in the idea of bringing people together to share food, conversation and time. This is inspired by the Korean jing, a large brass gong used in traditional music, around which families and friends gather to celebrate through rhythm and dance. That sense of togetherness is woven seamlessly into the restaurant’s visual identity.

Upon arrival, attention is immediately drawn to a striking two-metre circular artwork, commissioned specifically for the space and inspired by the jing itself. From there, the design unfolds beautifully. The interior is dark yet warm, dramatic yet inviting. There are no harsh overhead ceiling lights; instead, softly illuminated arches line the restaurant, marking the entrance to each booth and guiding the eye through the space. Each table feels intimate and private, ideal for relaxed dining, while the open arches between booths create a subtle sense of connection and openness. It’s an environment that encourages conversation without ever feeling intrusive, striking a rare balance between intimacy and sociability. I genuinely cannot overstate how beautifully designed the space is — it feels modern and luxurious, yet grounded in tradition and purpose.

Despite its prime location between Covent Garden and Leicester Square, pricing at Soom is refreshingly reasonable. This was a deliberate choice by owners Ho Kim and head chef Won Choi, who were keen to introduce authentic Korean food to London without alienating diners through inflated prices. That intention is felt throughout — from the generosity of portions to the absence of unnecessary excess. The focus remains firmly on quality, authenticity, and accessibility.

One area where this commitment to quality is particularly evident is in the dumplings. All are made in-house, a distinction that immediately sets Soom apart from many London Asian restaurants that rely on frozen alternatives. These dumplings are large, juicy, and packed with flavour, and it’s instantly clear that they’ve been crafted with care. It’s a point of pride for Ho Kim, and rightly so. The drinks menu complements the food thoughtfully. Once in a Summer, a refreshing blend of mint, gin, lemon, and cucumber, was beautifully balanced. I wouldn’t usually gravitate towards cucumber in a gin-based cocktail, but here it was subtle and clean, enhancing rather than overpowering the other flavours. Korea Sunset, a blend of peach, soju, Malibu, pineapple, citrus, and grenadine, evokes the feeling of being somewhere far removed from the energy of central London, watching the sun dip below the horizon somewhere warm and unhurried.

Soom describes itself as “a pause — a moment to breathe in the flow of everyday life.” Inspired by the Korean word for ‘breath’, it invites guests to slow down, breathe deeply, and share food that warms the heart. It’s a philosophy that resonates throughout every aspect of the experience. From the thoughtful design and confident service to the deeply comforting food, Soom succeeds in creating a space that encourages connection, conversation, and presence — an increasingly rare achievement in the heart of London.

W: Soom Korean
T: +44 (0) 20 459 72123
E: Information

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Written by Sam Mead for Luxuria Lifestyle International

The soft glow of brass lighting, the mellow crackle of vinyl, the warmth of chamchuri wood — everything about AngloThai feels lived-in rather than composed for effect. It’s the kind of space where someone has thought about how light falls on a table, how sound moves around a room, and how to make strangers feel as though they’ve stepped into a place that recognises them. And that makes sense, because AngloThai is the creative partnership of chef John Chantarasak and his wife, Desiree – two people whose worlds of food, design, music and wine have gradually woven together over the last decade into something unmistakably their own.

This restaurant is not a project they built; it’s one they grew – slowly, deliberately, through pop-ups, residencies, and years of shaping their shared vision of hospitality. This long, winding path found its permanent home in late 2024, and within just a few months, AngloThai was awarded its first Michelin star – a recognition that feels like a quiet acknowledgement of the years they spent building something deeply personal. That history lives in the room before a single plate arrives.

John’s journey to the kitchen began in music – years spent writing, playing, travelling, searching for something that felt like home. He talks about that period with a sort of fond pragmatism; it was creative, unpredictable, and full of learning, but never quite the place he was meant to land. Cooking, he explains, offered a different kind of expression – one rooted in instinct, memory and place rather than performance. “Anything creative starts with inspiration,” he tells me. “For me, it begins with the season – usually with plants, because they shift so much more than proteins. I follow what they’re doing, filter that through my Thai palate, and let the dish form naturally from there.”

You can feel that intuitive, season-led approach immediately – not in a conceptual way, but in the way dishes carry a kind of emotional logic that only becomes clear once you’re already halfway through eating them. John’s grounding in Thai cooking, shaped over more than a decade in kitchens in both Thailand and Britain, sits quietly behind each decision, from how he balances heat to how he builds umami. His food isn’t trying to replicate anything; instead, it exists at a meeting point between memory, heritage, and the land he cooks from now.

And then there is Desiree – the quiet conductor of everything around the plate. Her background in graphic design and her deep love of wine have shaped AngloThai’s identity as much as John’s food. “Our wine list is deeply personal,” she says. “It grew from those early pop-up days when we fell in love with European wine bars. The relationships we built with small growers – and the energy of cool-climate wines – are now woven through AngloThai as our own narrative thread.” Her selections aren’t about prestige or performance; they’re about people, craft, land, and the kind of energy that matches John’s dishes beat for beat. You sense immediately that wine isn’t an accessory here – it’s a language the restaurant speaks fluently.

So let’s eat lunch at AngloThai…

The food arrives in movements rather than courses. I always think the first bite in a tasting menu sets the tone for everything that follows, and at AngloThai it was immediate – that quiet internal click when you realise you’re in safe hands. The Lovita plum arrived looking almost understated, but the flavour was the opposite: autumn fruit wrapped around delicate acidity and that unmistakable hint of rapeseed richness. It grounded me instantly, like the menu was saying: start here, slow down, pay attention.

The Carlingford oyster sharpened that awareness – clean, cold, threaded with green chilli and pine, like stepping briefly outside into winter air before returning somewhere warm. And then the crab: soft, sweet, crowned with Exmoor caviar and anchored by that charcoal-dark coconut ash cracker. It was the dish that made me lean back slightly, the way you do when something lands emotionally before you’ve had time to analyse why. It tasted like memory and instinct, and I found myself trying to pinpoint what exactly made it feel so right.

Heat and smoke arrived with more insistence, curling through the dish of wok-fired shrub greens with mussels and yellow soybean. It reminded me of travelling – of markets and street-side grills – but filtered through the clarity of British winter produce. There was nothing heavy-handed about it; the flavour lingered but didn’t cling, smoke used like punctuation rather than decoration.

The stone bass with sweetcorn and long peppercorn green curry felt like a conversation – not simply between ingredients but between ideas. There was something almost introspective about this dish – as if the bass and the curry were having a conversation rather than competing for your attention. The sweetcorn brought a gentle golden warmth, while the curry wrapped around the fish with a slow, compelling heat. It was the dish that made me realise how collaborative the AngloThai kitchen really is – you can feel the presence of different hands and minds in its balance.

Dessert didn’t feel like a finale so much as a soft landing. The apricot, jasmine and heritage seed krayasat offered texture and fragrance without sweetness taking over, while the Thai tea with buckwheat and milk arrived like a gentle reminder of the meal’s overarching theme: memory, reimagined; comfort, reframed. It ended the meal with sincerity rather than spectacle – a choice that felt perfectly in tune with the restaurant itself.

What strikes me most at AngloThai is how deeply its values sit beneath everything: the growers John speaks about with real affection; the belief that ingredients taste best in their own time and place; the decision to substitute Thai staples with British produce not out of restriction but out of respect; the intention to use whole plants because waste, here, is not an option but an opportunity. You taste it in the details – holy basil grown for them in east London, sea buckthorn offering acidity where lime or tamarind once might, British heritage grains stepping in for rice, even outer cabbage leaves used instead of banana leaf. And threaded through it all is John’s connection to the people behind those ingredients – the farmers, growers and fishers whose work shapes the menu as much as his own memories do. He distils it simply, and powerfully: “You can’t be authentic to a place you’re not in – but you can be honest about where you are.”

And honesty is everywhere – in the music that drifts between decades, in the ceramics from Lampang, in the woven copper installation, in the textures of the private dining room, Baan, which mirrors their own Battersea home. The space feels less like a restaurant design and more like an invitation into the couple’s shared creative world.

By the time we step back out into the chill of the winter afternoon, I feel sharpened, warmer somehow, as though the experience has gently recalibrated something. It is rare to encounter a restaurant that is not trying to be two things at once, but instead is entirely, comfortably itself. AngloThai isn’t a fusion. It isn’t a concept. It isn’t trying to perform identity.

It is simply the life and creative language of two people – expressed through fire, flavour, craft, and sound.
As Desiree puts it, with gentle certainty: “AngloThai is what happens when you stop choosing and start creating.”

W: AngloThai

Written by Emma Blunt for Luxuria Lifestyle International

A Dining Room with Ideas Above Its Station

From the outside, Simon’s is perfectly polite — white gables, generous shade from the oaks, all very Cape Dutch and well-behaved. But cross the threshold and the restaurant reveals its true personality, which is… enthusiastic.

Mirrors shimmer in every direction, multiplying the room into a hall of culinary possibility. Chandeliers drip crystal with the emotional intensity of a soprano nearing her final aria. Gold accents wink from corners you didn’t know were corners. There is even a grand piano that seems one flick of a switch away from bursting into The Entertainer.

It is as if someone took the decorum of the estate next door and thought, “Yes, but what if it also had ambitions of starring in its own late-night cabaret?”

The Menu: Theatrics on the Walls, Restraint on the Plate

For all its flamboyant interior design choices, the kitchen at Simon’s is almost monk-like in discipline. The food doesn’t shout; it doesn’t preen; it simply arrives with quiet confidence and the unmistakable aura of fresh ingredients treated with respect.

The famed grilled Kingklip appears. It’s a white, glistening fish fillet that seems to glow under the chandeliers. It’s served lightly wrapped in a lemon, sumac and almond crust, resting on a bed of herbed mash, with confit balsamic cherry tomatoes, spring onions and sautéed vegetables. The fish has flaky flesh that yields to a fork with the softness of torn silk. A brush of lemon-fynbos butter — delicate enough not to intrude, fragrant enough to conjure the nearby coastline — finishes the dish. It tastes like the ocean when the wind is behaving itself.

Other dishes follow this same thoughtful approach: local produce presented generously but without bravado, seafood served as though the chef personally escorted it from the harbour, and desserts that feel like a gentle handshake rather than a sugar ambush.

I settled for the carrot cake — Simon’s version is designed with moist softness and earthiness, with a comforting after-dinner feel. Spices and aromatics like cinnamon and nutmeg, with hints of citrus and a few ground nuts, complement the sweetness of the carrots and give depth rather than just sugar. Honest ingredients, balanced sweetness, and a comforting, gentle finish.

If the walls are wearing sequins, the food is wearing linen.

Between Bread Plates and Afternoon Light

When lunch ends, the restaurant opens out into the warm hum of the afternoon. Through the windows, you can spot the estate drifting into its siesta-time drowse. Somewhere behind the vines, a tractor murmurs with the contentment of machinery that has seen worse days.

A butterfly floats across the lawn with no particular destination in mind. And then, in a delightful break from restaurant protocol, a waddling delegation of white Pekin ducks marches toward the terrace. They gaze up at diners with the practised sorrow of creatures who have never once missed a meal but are nevertheless skilled in the art of appearing tragically unfed.

It is hard to take life too seriously with ducks performing soft-shoe routines outside the door.

Should You Wander

If you do step out after lunch, the valley is spread around you in neat green rows — vines, mountains, sea air blown in from the horizon. The estate’s shop glints nearby, lined with bottles that look as though they’ve been curated by a gemmologist.

But Simon’s remains the beating heart of the visit: a place where history hums quietly through the walls while the chandeliers shimmer with unrepentant glamour.

Leaving the Valley

By mid-afternoon, the light has turned honeyed and forgiving. The courtyard smells faintly of crushed grapes and warm stone. Cape Town’s bustle waits somewhere beyond the hills, impatient as ever. But for a moment longer, the restaurant door closes gently behind you, and all that remains is the sense that you’ve dined somewhere suspended — not in time, exactly, but in mood. A place where the menu whispers of land and sea, and the décor belts out a show tune. Simon’s is more than a restaurant. It’s an experience: half theatre, half kitchen, entirely memorable.

W: Simons
W: Groot Constantia
W: Cape Tourism

Written by Cindy-Lou Dale for Luxuria Lifestyle International

Serving Modern British, seasonal cuisine alongside Bluebird classic dishes, English wines, and innovative cocktails (from breakfast through to late evening) in the famous courtyard, café, restaurant, bar, private dining rooms, and exclusive members club room. Part of The Evolv Collection.

Bluebird Chelsea offers classic Christmas elegance in the restaurant, while the Café and courtyard transform into the “Winter Lodge” — a complete Alpine experience with cheese boards and hot toddies in partnership with Singleton Whisky (takeaway options available too for King’s Road Christmas shoppers). The restaurant has partnered with No.3 Gin and Fever-Tree to offer festive cocktails and Tiny Tini’s.

Winter Lodge with Singleton Whisky

This winter, Bluebird’s café and courtyard transforms into a cosy winter lodge. Sip on seasonal Singleton whisky cocktails — spiced with gingerbread, laced with chocolate and orange, or sweetened with maple — perfectly paired with sharing plates of cheese, from Camembert to baked Brie, and indulgent Gruyère, gooey and golden and made for sharing.

Dates: 10th November – 29th December

See the menu here

Christmas Day

This Christmas Day, join us at Bluebird Chelsea for a festive feast made for sharing. Chef Owen is serving up all the Christmas classics, from silky Scottish Smoked Salmon to a golden Roast Norfolk Turkey Crown & Leg served with all the traditional trimmings. And to round off your Christmas lunch, tuck into our rich Bluebird Guinness Steamed Christmas Pudding — perfect with piping-hot custard and the company of those you love.

See the menu here

A: 350 King’s Road, London, SW3 5UU
T: +44 20 7559 1000
W: Bluebird Chelsea Restaurant

We started with the most incredible bread basket, still warm, salt-crusted and totally irresistible. Then came the beer-battered fish and chips, crisp and golden on the outside, steaming on the inside and delicious. It was comfort food taken to a different level. And the sticky toffee pudding… honestly, it might just be the best we’ve ever had. Served with creamy ice cream, it was the perfect finish. All of it washed down with a glass (or two!) of beautiful English sparkling wine, ensuring a treat of absolute perfection.

In summer, the pretty garden would be a dream. We are already planning a return visit when the sun is out. And inside, it’s wonderfully cosy and welcoming — the kind of place you instantly relax into, especially on a chilly day.

Everything about this Inn — the food, the atmosphere, and especially the heart Imogen and Mike pour into it — made our lunch unforgettable. We left feeling full, happy, and already excited to come back. An absolute gem.

Bookings are now open for the festive season. To book, please visit Nut Tree Inn

Opening Hours

Food served:
Monday–Thursday: 12–2 pm, 6–8:30 pm
Friday and Saturday: 12–2 pm, 6–9 pm
Sunday: 11:30 am–2:45 pm

Drinks served:
Monday–Saturday: 12–11 pm
Sunday: 11:30 am–6 pm

Closed on Mondays (kitchen closed)

Written by Luxuria Lifestyle’s Global Editor Debbie Stone

In the shadow of its Michelin Guide-recommended sister restaurant, Aki, which sits at street level directly below on Strait Street, The Rooftop could easily have played the supporting act. But it doesn’t. Instead, it stands confidently on its own — a venue that combines intimate sophistication with an unmistakably Maltese sense of warmth and ease.

Above the City, Beyond the Ordinary

Before dinner, we made our way up to the terrace above the restaurant — the hotel’s highest point — to take in the sweeping panoramic views. From there, Valletta stretches out in every direction: limestone spires, church domes, and the shimmer of the Grand Harbour. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the city seemed to glow from within. It was the kind of view that slows time — a prelude to the evening that felt both cinematic and serene.

Descending to the restaurant below, we found a space already alive with conversation. Despite being fully booked — every table occupied, every seat filled — the space never felt crowded. With just a handful of tables indoors and four more beyond the glass bi-fold doors that open to the terrace, there’s an intimacy to the layout that larger venues can’t replicate. The murmur of conversation mingled with a mellow playlist, creating just the right level of energy: vibrant but never overpowering.

We had planned to dine outdoors to make the most of the open air and those postcard-perfect views, but with an October breeze rolling over the city, we chose to sit inside instead. It proved to be the right decision. The floor-to-ceiling glass panels enclosing the restaurant still provided the full panorama. Even indoors, Valletta felt close enough to touch.

Simplicity, Seasonality, and Local Soul

The Rooftop Restaurant’s culinary direction is guided by Executive Chef Filippo, whose philosophy rests on three principles: simplicity, seasonality, and locally sourced excellence. It’s a mantra that translates effortlessly from plate to palate.

The menu, inspired by Mediterranean cuisine, celebrates local produce and fresh island ingredients — from just-caught fish to sun-drenched vegetables and soft Maltese bread still warm from the oven. The wine list, too, tells its own story: Maltese vineyards stand proudly alongside select European labels, each chosen to complement the flavours of the food without pretension.

It’s Mediterranean cuisine at its most confident: unfussy, ingredient-led, and quietly sophisticated.

Starters That Set the Tone

We began with lamb tacos — one of the evening’s standouts. Served as two perfectly formed portions, they were soft and juicy, topped with pickled onions that added a sharp, refreshing contrast. The flavour built gently — rich and tender, with a final kick of spice that lingered pleasantly. My only regret was not sharing dishes with my partner, who had ordered the same starter — had we mixed and matched, I might also have tried the pulled pork tacos, which looked equally inviting.

Also gracing our table were the flame-grilled beef and guanciale skewers, smoky and beautifully seasoned. The saltiness of the guanciale was offset by a silky herb and lime mayonnaise — bright, creamy, and perfectly judged.

The Mains: Comfort, Craft, and Flavour

For the main course, I chose the pork tenderloin, which arrived perfectly seared and astonishingly moist. Paired with roasted new potatoes — soft, buttery, and lightly crisped at the edges — and topped with a herbed lemon-mustard cream sauce that added a delicate tang without overpowering the dish. Every element complemented the other, harmoniously and confidently.

But it was the accompaniments that truly stole the show. The rooftop fries — crisp and golden yet still somehow fluffy inside — were declared by my partner to be “some of the best chips I’ve ever tasted.” And I’d be inclined to agree. Simple, but perfectly executed.

Every dish arrived artfully presented but never overworked — elegant without being fussy, confident without being ostentatious. The focus here is on flavour, not theatrics.

The Atmosphere: Intimate and Effortless

The Rooftop strikes that delicate balance between fine dining and comfort. Every table was occupied, yet the space retained a sense of calm. Service was attentive but never intrusive; each member of staff moved with quiet assurance, anticipating needs without interrupting conversation.

The playlist — mellow and well chosen — tied everything together. The evening unfolded like a well-rehearsed symphony: soft lighting, warm chatter, the clink of glasses, and the faint hum of the city below.

The Sweet Finale

I have a weakness for chocolate fondant. No matter how many times it appears on a menu, I can’t resist ordering it — and here, I was rewarded for my lack of restraint. The richness of the chocolate was beautifully balanced by the accompanying homemade vanilla ice cream, its cool creaminess cutting through the warmth and intensity of the dessert in all the right ways.

My stepson, more adventurous in his dessert choices, opted for the Chocolate Passion — a creative pairing of chocolate and passionfruit. It had an intriguing sharpness; the tropical tang of the fruit pierced through the sweetness of the chocolate, creating a dessert that was both rich and refreshing.

A View to Remember

Even after dessert, we lingered. The city lights shimmered through the glass, and the hum of conversation softened as diners drifted up to the terrace for a final drink. From there, the view stretched endlessly — a tapestry of stone, sea, and history illuminated against the night sky.

It’s easy to see what the owners envisioned when they created this space. Their goal wasn’t simply to open another restaurant, but to craft an experience — one that celebrates the timeless beauty of Malta’s capital from above. They’ve succeeded. The Rooftop isn’t just about what’s on the plate or in the glass; it’s about how it all feels — the view, the music, the moment.

Final Reflections

The Rooftop Restaurant & Lounge is more than just the Embassy Valletta Hotel’s crowning jewel — it’s a destination in its own right. An evening here captures something rare: the essence of Mediterranean dining distilled into an atmosphere that’s elegant yet unpretentious, refined yet welcoming.

As Valletta’s dining scene continues to evolve, The Rooftop offers a distinct perspective — literally and figuratively. With a view that steals your breath, a menu that celebrates the island’s finest produce, and an ambience that radiates quiet sophistication, it embodies the city’s beauty from above. It’s the perfect balance of refinement and ease — where fine dining meets the effortless charm of the Mediterranean.

W: The Rooftop Restaurant & Lounge
T: +356 2016 9818
E: Information

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Written by Luxuria Lifestyle International’s Sam Mead