Officina 00’s much-anticipated Covent Garden opening had been on my radar since March. The original pasta workshop in Old Street already had me in a chokehold – those spianatoia-shaped silky tagliatelle and dreamy panko lasagna bites have been living rent-free in my mind since I first tried them. So when I heard that founders Enzo Mirto and Elia Sebregondi were bringing their magic to the West End, along with something called a “pizza in rutiello menu”, I cleared my calendar faster than you can say “cacio e pepe.”
Tucked away on Dryden Street, the new Officina 00 is instantly inviting – raw steel and warm wood, bottle green accents, and that buzz of people who really love their carbs. And yes, the rutiello pizza is the star here. Picture a fluffy-crusted, pan-baked beauty – light, crisp, golden – served straight to the table in its baking tin like your Neapolitan nonna might have done. If you had one. I don’t, but I’m adopting the Officina team immediately.
There’s something charmingly unpretentious about it. It doesn’t arrive with fanfare or flourish – it just is, unapologetically rustic and impossibly good. The toppings change with the seasons, and on my visit, there was a tomato, spicy salami and hot honey combo that I would’ve tattooed on my arm if I could.
Of course, I couldn’t not order pasta. You can’t come to Officina 00 and skip it – it’s basically sacrilege. The in-house flour, milled with Wildfarmed and fully traceable (which feels oddly reassuring), creates a texture that’s just… better. I went for the occhi with pork genovese and sour parsley pesto, which was earthy, herby, and felt like being wrapped in a woolly jumper of flavour. Quite fitting considering the summer we are having. My husband ordered the beef short rib ragù, and I spent most of dinner finding ways to steal his while pretending to listen to his crypto chat.
We started things off with the fried raviolo filled with cacio e pepe (think: crispy pasta pillow from heaven) and a few lasagna bites that could probably solve world peace if handed out liberally. I also had the Italian Margarita (the cocktail, not the pizza), which – speaking as someone who’s tried more than I should – might be my new favourite. Light, zesty, and dangerously drinkable.
For dessert, I caved and ordered the tiramisu. No regrets. None.
There’s something really special about this place. Maybe it’s the handmade everything. Maybe it’s the nostalgia-infused menu. Maybe it’s just the fact that every bite feels like someone’s cooked it for you, not at you.
As I rolled out of the restaurant, blissfully full and already plotting my next visit, I couldn’t help but think: this is what comfort tastes like. It’s truffle-dusted, it’s Neapolitan-rooted, and it’s sitting in a rutiello pan waiting to be devoured.
8-10 Dryden Street, London WC2E 9NA
