The first branch of Italy’s beloved All’Antico Vinaio has opened in the UK, taking over the former Camisa site in Soho, London.
It joins 47 other locations across Italy and the US, having grown quickly since its foundation in Florence, Tuscany, in 1991.
All’Antico was established by the Mazzanti family and remains a close-knit business. And the concept is simple: in the Florentine flatbread schiacciata — if you need a reference point: like a thinner, crispier version of focaccia — come varying combinations of Italian meats and cheeses, these enlivened by grilled vegetables, dressings and creams.
Expect plenty of mortadella, burrata, sun-dried tomatoes and tomatoes, as well as truffle-infused sauces drizzles of olive oil. There’s even a London special: porchetta, potato cream, caramelised onions and mature cheddar.
In 2014, All’Antico became the most-reviewed restaurant in the world on TripAdvisor and the Mazzantis have no intent to stop expanding. Ten more branches are set to open by the end of 2025. Don’t be surprised if more open in the UK.
“I’m truly honored to open our first location in the UK, especially in such an important city like London,” said Tommaso Mazzanti, who runs the show.
“This marks a crucial milestone in All’Antico Vinaio’s growth, and we hope to replicate the success we’ve had in the US. This is the seventh country where we’re opening AV, driven by our passion for sharing a piece of Italian culinary tradition with the world.”
Josh’s take
Waiting an hour for a sandwich is utterly, apocalyptically debased as far as I’m concerned. What is wrong with London? Good though, my porchetta number, which costs £14.50 and is about the size of a horse. It’s called the bada come la fume and with the pork comes smoked provolone, potato cream and spiced aubergine. The bread is exemplary, the pork flavourful and sliced thinly to be texturally rewarding.
I’m at All’Antico, the Florentine sandwich shop taking over the world. There are numerous across Italy and even more in the US. I’ve not been to the one in Florence, where the shop was founded in 1991 — I go to the hole-in-the-wall near the cathedral for a tripe roll with garlic and parsley, the city’s home dish — but have visited the branch in Turin, where I took a break from tajarin alla ragu and agnolotti del plin to have a little mortadella, ‘nduja and stracciatella, preserves of the south.
Now All’Antico has launched in Soho, the “hype” has come. I’m pleased the venture has taken the old Camisa site, a Pret or Leon would’ve stung, but I resent the protracted queue. There was never one this long at Camisa, I’d only ever wait five or ten minutes tops. Which is curious given sandwiches were only a fiver even before close. London is run by landlords.
There isn’t any doubt All’Antico makes a good sarnie. The bread is superior to most other bakeries in town and the meats and cheeses are fine indeed. This is practiced, considered sandwich-making, the best sort of Italian craftsmanship where provenance is all. Just skip anything with tomatoes out of season because they’ll be British and therefore compromised.
But to the crux of it: worth an hour’s wait? Surely not. An hour’s wait is supererogatory indeed, at least not if you have a life. Then again, much like Supernova, CDMX tacos and Breadstall pizza, the queues will become more manageable, and I shall return between pints.
David’s take
I hold my memories of Florence close. I was taken to All’Antico there years ago, though I had no idea what it was, or of its significance. I remember that in the queue we were given wine — London would do well to pay attention — and that, after a sandwich that I truly adored, we went to another bar, had 10 glasses of wine, and then I bought a watch that put me into terrible debt. Those were the days.
In a five star rave of the magnificent Eel, I wrote: “queuing for restaurants is not something I do (don’t you know who I think I am?)”. A cheap gag but one rooted in truth: I just can’t see the point. There’s always somewhere nearby that’s just as good and without the wait. So, as the 10 minutes turned into 20, and the 20 stretched into an hour, with an impatient tapping foot, I really, really hoped this sandwich was worth it. That it might live up to that precious memory of Florence.
And on its first bite, it did. “Fair f***s,” I said, “this is some sandwich”. I had the giglio — cooked ham, smoked provola, potato cream and truffle cream — and in the first instance, it was a revelation. And true, I remain convinced schiacciata is the only bread for a sandwich: it shatters beautifully, it tastes gorgeous. But after a little while, the truffle just began to be taxing, and my tongue felt something like sore. It blinded all the other flavours. Was the provola smoked? Only barely. I’ve had clothes that smelt stronger the day after a barbecue.
It did not help that the bloody thing kept collapsing, the creams dripping out over the table, which meant I ate it in a horrible hurry, forcing it down to avoid a mess. Look, I’m being a little harsh: this was still a seven out of 10. I’d definitely go back. But would I wait an hour, or even half? Would I hell. Hype evaporates in the end — and once it does, that’s the time to go.
All’Antico Vinaio, 61 Old Compton St, W1D 6HT, allanticovinaio.com
