Piccolino - Birmingham

We came for my mother-in-law’s 80th. And I’m not going to do mother-in-law jokes here. I could. Lord knows I could. But frankly, the restaurant did them all for me. Every tired, uninspired, phoned-in, family-gathering cliché was catered for—except, ironically, the catering. Now, on the face of it, Piccolino looks the part. Stylish even. There’s a low golden glow, waiters in the regulation waistcoats, and the usual interior designer’s salad of marble, brass, and botanical tat. Plastic plants dangle from the ceiling like a housewife’s dream of the Amalfi Coast. You could almost be convinced. Almost. But then things begin to unravel. Slowly at first. A thread here, a fray there. Our table is one place setting short. Not a huge problem, unless you’re the person standing awkwardly, clutching a gift bag, wondering if the table’s just gaslighting you. And yes, it’s a Friday night, but the restaurant is half empty. A few lonely couples, a business dinner dying quietly in the corner. It should have been buzzing. It was barely idling. Drinks take forever. Long enough that you begin to wonder if the Pinot Grigio is still on the vine. And when it does arrive, it’s warm. Not room temperature. Not cellar cool. Warm. Like it had just done a shift under a Tuscan sunlamp and was ready for a lie down. Then the food. The menu reads well enough—some safe hits, some ambitious misses—but what arrives feels like a culinary shrug. The pasta was dry, claggy, and slumped on the plate like it had given up halfway through the boil. The presentation suggested a chef in a hurry, or perhaps a hostage. Even the panna cotta looked like it had been assembled mid-apology. It’s a shame. Because you want to like these places. You want to come out, for a birthday, with family and laughter and the clink of glasses and plates you didn’t have to wash. You don’t want to feel like you are the inconvenience. That your mere presence is messing with the restaurant’s vibe. But that’s how it felt. A sort of low-grade irritation, like they’d rather you just ordered a Deliveroo and left them to their curated Instagram silence. Piccolino Birmingham: a fallen angel of a restaurant. Once full of promise, now floating somewhere between faded glamour and full-blown couldn’t-care-less. We raised a glass to 80 years of life. The restaurant, I fear, won’t see out the decade.

Me and my boyfriend came to Picciliono on Valentine’s day, the service we had was amazing served by a lovely young girl . Before we even got through the door we was asked if we wanted to hang out coats up which is the first time we have been asked out of quite a few restaurants in Birmingham. Our waitress was very fast and met all our needs. Carbonara for two was amazing comes in a cheese wheel i was so excited to try! Overall a lovely experience thank you all 🫶

A really nice and I would say it is one of the top choices in Birmingham. Some portions are big like the T Bone. Lobster pasta is smaller if you consider sharing. Both taste really nice. Great service.