Before St John’s Wood became such a glossy destination you could expect to leave 29 – 31 High Street with a bad case of Friday night bloat.
You know that feeling? The urgent need to loosen your belt after a meal with whichever balaboosta has cooked for Shabbat. The knowledge that just one more strand of lockshen could tip you over the edge.
And, as anyone who grew up in north London will have surmised this is the former home of New York style deli Harry Morgan’s. The NW8 favourite closed its doors in 2021 leaving a lot of broken hearts and an area with little in the way of Ashkenazi nosh.
Front facing: Babbo St John's Wood[Missing Credit]
Harry has been repaced by Babbo (which means daddy) a polished Italian that, while not offering chicken soup, is far more in keeping with the neighbourhood. It’s the antithesis of the slightly grubby-looking destination where I used to hang out with my grandparents.
Babbo had its first incarnation in Mayfair, where it was a favourite with Premiership footballers. Not surprising when you hear that its founding owners were Chelsea players Willian Borges and David Luiz. As far as I’m aware, the new owners are not football-related.
The dining room is slick and shiny and, even at 6.30pm humming with the conversations of well-groomed types in designer jumpers and heavy specs. Dark wood tables and floral-decorated mirrors give a classy vibe without being stuffy. My slightly myopic date, a friend from uni days who now lives in Milan, moaned that she needed to squint a little in the dimmed light.
Sicilian snacks: nocellara olives and Parmigiano Reggiano Photo: Victoria Prever[Missing Credit]
But my Milanese mate had nothing but praise for the dish of nocellara olives and lip-puckeringly punchy Parmigiano Reggiano. She has with a home in Sicily from where, she told me, the olives originate. They got a thumbs up for freshness as did the nobbly lumps of cheese.
Taking an Italian with me could have been daddy’s downfall. Which European doesn’t have notoriously high standards for their home cuisine? And this one is a keen foodie. But she (mostly) raved about everything we ate.
Knife skills: tuna tartar Photo: Victoria Prever[Missing Credit]
Tuna tartar was fresh, vibrant and showed off someone’s fancy knife skills. Tiny cubes of cucumber and tomatoes combined with itsy bitsy nuggets of juicy tuna. Perfect for local ladies lunching. Aubergine parmigiano was more robust but even this normally heavy dish showed a lightness of touch, ticking all our taste boxes but without the usual oil and heavy cheese. My mate admitted it may even have been as good as her mama’s.
Perfect pesce: sea bass with grilled vegetables Photo: Victoria Prever[Missing Credit]
Tagliatelle ai funghi (light delicate and generously shroomed) and Branzino — sea bass fillets — was crisp-skinned and tender under a mound of roasted Med veg.
Sum of its parts: Babbo's tiramisu Photo: Victoria Prever[Missing Credit]
Her only beef was with dessert. Individually, mascarpone mousse with chocolate crumble and coffee ice cream were delicious but were not, in my expert’s opinion enough to warrant its grand title of tiramisu. The deconstruction lacked a little in punch for our tastes but was still gone in minutes – as was the perfectly executed chocolate fondant. The gooey chocolate centre was a masterclass.
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Top marks for service. Everyone — without exception — was friendly, efficient and interested in what we’d enjoyed. The dining room felt like sitting in a velvet clad cocoon. The toilets were perhaps a little too discreet, hidden behind a heavy curtain, but that’s pretty well all I could find to kvetch about.
There may not be tender salt beef nor steaming chicken soup, but Babbo’s is a more than worthy replacement for the old incumbent. And instead of staggering out with a stomach packed with heavy Ashkenazi carbs you’re more likely to leave with a spring in your step — all the better for skipping past the windows of designer clothes and expensive exercise studios.
Babbo
