This is not a whisper-and-slurp kind of place. Luciano is loud. Like, “shouting about the Tiramisu” loud. There’s a pianist some nights, and the whole room joins in on “Volare.” It’s silly. It’s ridiculous. And it’s infectious.
You can’t be grumpy here. I saw a guy in a suit trying to take a work call near the bar. He gave up after thirty seconds because the laughter from a nearby table sidetracked him. He ordered a second glass of wine. Good choice, suit guy.
It’s the kind of place where you accidentally make eye contact with strangers, and by the end of the meal, you’re all swapping dessert recommendations. It’s community, served with a side of carbs.
But Is It Worth The Hype? And The Bill?
Right, the money question. Luciano is not cheap. You’re not going to walk out with a tenner in your pocket. Mains hover around the £20-£30 mark, and cocktails are London-priced (meaning: your wallet will feel a slight breeze).
Luciano by Gino D'Acampo (The Strand) - Major Foodie
But here’s the thing: you’re paying for the experience. The setting, the service, the show. It’s a celebration, not a transaction. If you’re looking for a quick lunch or a quiet date to debate philosophy over, go somewhere else. Seriously. This is for groups, for laughter, for “I’m celebrating my promotion” energy.
And the portions? Generous. The Tiramisu is a sharing tragedy—you’ll want it all to yourself. It’s light, boozy, and arrives with a little theatrical flourish. I’ve dreamt about it twice since. No shame.
