It seems a little strange to name a restaurant that promises ‘a joyful escape to the sun-drenched coastline of Amalfi’ after Alba, a Piedmont town a good 30 miles from the coast. But Alba has lots of white truffles, which are very expensive. Alba also means ‘sunrise’, so that’s all right then.
Really, though, the name is the least of this new Italian’s problems. Money hasn’t just been lavished on the place, but splashed and flashed and frittered and thrown. The room is vast but, with the exception of one other table of four, entirely empty. ‘A refined love letter to Italy in every detail,’ sighs its Instagram account. This rather depends on one’s definition of ‘refined’.
Sea bass, octopus and focaccia: Alba aims to evoke sun-drenched Italy
Because this is Knightsbridge Insta-excess to its gilded, over-designed core; a Loro Piana-lined Berlusconi boudoir where the rococo lap-dances the baroque, while kitsch and camp whoop from the wings. Lemon trees sprout from every corner, the lacquered wooden ceiling could be the deck of a Monaco gin palace and bronze sculptures depict semi-naked women in the grip of sinister bald men. Music pounds, there’s enough marble to make Caligula blush, and waiters, in their white shirts and braces, resemble Al Pacino in the Sicilian bits of The Godfather. This is a place so over the top that it makes Sexy Fish look like St John.
The Big Mamma group has made an art form of over-the-top Italian, and its places are unselfconsciously fun. Alba is not. There’s barely a dish that doesn’t come slathered in caviar or lavished with truffles. Even langoustines tartare is embellished with foie gras. Why? The fatty liver detracts from the purity of the pristine crustaceans. Yellowtail crudo is admittedly excellent, with earthy black truffle flattering the sweetness of the fish. There’s a fine beef carpaccio, too, with more black truffle, but a few mouthfuls come in at a thumping £62. I know, I know, I shouldn’t go to a place like this and moan about the price. The punters expect the reassuringly expensive.
But it’s the less flashy dishes that really disappoint. A dull parmigiana, distinctly average pizza margherita, dreary lamb chops with a strange, sticky gravy and an eminently forgettable farmed sea bream ‘aqua pazza’. In fact, the charming service is the high point of our dinner. ‘Alba Ristorante delivers indulgence in every mouthful,’ coos the website. Urgh. Indulgence il mio culo.
About £130 per head. Alba, 70 Brompton Road, London SW3; alba-ldn.uk