With stagnant wage growth, a government hell-bent on U-turns and a winter that feels like one never-ending Tuesday, we all need a bit of sunshine. Perhaps Corinthia London sensed this when André Garrett left The Northall in 2025 to join Claude Bosi’s group (Tom Kerridge still runs the hotel’s other restaurant). Maybe inspired by other large spaces that have gone in an Italian direction (with mixed results, cf Locatelli at The National Gallery and Cicoria), it was time for a Mediterranean injection.
Conceptually, just the word “mezzogiorno” is a canny move: while it literally translates as “midday”, its more colloquial meaning denotes the south of Italy (similar to the French “midi”). Unlike the industrial north, where Milanese workers neck espressos between Teams calls, things go at a calmer pace in the south. In the languid boot of Italy, long lunches are a human right; sandwiches over spreadsheets al desko are anathema.
Then there’s the clever idea of handing the baton over to Francesco Mazzei – a chef who needs no introduction. It’s particularly fitting that the hotel’s best bar, Velvet, is overseen by a fellow Italian legend of hospitality, Salvatore Calabrese. Now you can get nicely refreshed by Calabrese’s lethal freezer martinis in the bar and segue (or stumble) into a Mazzei dinner without even leaving the building.
So far, so promising. And indeed, it’s initially impressive what they’ve done to the place (The Northall felt a bit staid, aloof and Whitehall when I visited pre-Covid). Now in this Italian iteration you walk through an immersive semi-private dining space right by the kitchen (great for small groups) and a frantic pasta station, while the lighting is flatteringly low and conversation is lively. You may, as I did, spot a couple of celebrities. It certainly feels like a happening place, even if that vibe is a little manufactured; it would be a stretch to say it has the cosy homeliness of, say, Trullo or Casa Tua (unless that home is Tony Montana’s in Brian de Palma’s Scarface).
Seated at a marble-top table with a pointy lamp that looked like a Harkonnen’s torture device, a quick scan of the menu prices showed this is still very Corinthia – £15 for a side of zucchini fritti, for example, and wines at the lower end are excruciatingly dear for what they are – but that is to be expected I suppose. The question is whether there is any substance to it and if it delivers any of that promised Calabrian sunshine.
Feeling peckish after that Velvet martini, bruschetta al pomodoro (£6) and whipped ricotta with pickled tropea onion (£9) were both serviceable antipasti, each with just the right allium undercurrent to have a little kick but not creating kryptonite breath that would (or should) get you banned from public transport. For some initial vegetation, carciofi e puntarelle was a suitably bitter mix of artichoke, chicory shoots, fennel and seasonal blood orange, though was essentially £19 for a salad you could make at home.
Bruschetta al pomodoro
Cacio e pepe
The “King’s Porchetta”
Then, feeling like you’ve caught the Frecciarossa from Naples to Rome, their pleasant £19 carbonara was correctly made with guanciale and egg yolk (in Palate’s Benevolent Kingdom anyone found using cream in a carbonara will be put in a prison cell and made to listen to Thompson Twins records for all eternity). The cacio e pepe (£18) was technically OK but – and this isn’t really anyone’s fault – a cheesy-peppery emulsion the same grey hue as an overcast morning will always feel more Sunderland than Sicily. Also, the menu said it would be made with tonnarelli (which I prefer, personally) but this was with spaghetti; presumably they had run out and it was too much of a stretch for the pasta station to make some from scratch.
Welsh lamb rump with poverello beans, cavolo nero and roasted winter tomatoes (£42) was comforting enough and well-cooked but I was hoping for something more memorable with the majestic promise of the “King’s Porchetta” (£36). This was certainly vibrant, served with a sun-kissed caponata and with a pleasing crackling around the pork, but the blob of pumpkin mash and turnip tops felt like a Baldrickian addition rather than a gentler, Mazzei touch. At least the porchetta had been sensitively cooked to avoid drying out. Generally though, both primi felt just a bit, well… a bit Brexity.
Looking back, the key adjectives for these dishes have been “fine”, “serviceable” and “OK”. Lovely. But is this enough when three courses and a little vino easily exceed £100?
Perhaps when pronouncing “mezzogiorno” the emphasis should be on its beginning: “meh”. Or maybe “mezzo della strada” (middle of the road) is more accurate, even if that expression doesn’t really translate in Italian. You get the point though. There’s nothing actually bad about this restaurant and the service is generally attentive, but when wallets are under enough strain as it is, one has to bear in mind this is essentially trattoria food at five star hotel prices. Unless I’m having a second martini at Velvet and need an emergency dinner somewhere nearby, I’m not sure I’d prioritise returning to Mezzogiorno.
Corinthia London
10 Whitehall Place
London
SW1A 2BD
March 2026
