Dinner at Vapiano, London

Tonight was an evening of quick and easy Italian food, wine, and live music.
Sounds pretty good, hey?

I’d been to Vapiano only once before with Frankie when they invited us down for their Soho branch opening (which was lots of fun, I still have the photobooth pictures in my room). Now they’ve started having live music on certain dates, so they invited me down to check that out! When Boy heard the words “live music”, there was no getting rid of him, so he hopped along with me.

If you’ve never been to Vapiano, the concept is simple. They do pizzas, pastas and salads, and make them right there and then in front of you to take back to your table (apart from the pizzas where you get a little buzzer). They give you a card to pay with as you get your food then you pay at the end. It kind of reminded me of a purely Italian version of Marché (which I LOVEEEEE).

I arrived early (clearly too keen) so I was taken downstairs to join a table where another blogger and his wife was sat.

I had my card ready to go. All I needed was Boy.

I guess I could browse the menus whilst I was there?

And I had another thing to keep me company…

As soon as he got there, I’d planned to make him order and I’d rush upstairs and fetch the food (I was hungry). However, as always, we decided it would for some reason be a good idea to chat for God knows how long until I heard my stomach grumble.

TO THE FOOD!

I went to get us antipasti to start with.

Boy wanted me to get him the Carpaccio. Finely sliced beef fillet, cipriani sauce, Grana Padona D.O.P, mushrooms, rocket.

I can’t remember what was going through my mind that day. Like, I honestly can’t remember? Was I not eating meat? Or flour? Or was I on a diet (that lasted for like a day)?

Whatever it was, I remember planning on having soup when I got there, but after seeing the menu that went out the window and I got the Insalata Caprese (Caprese Salad for you Englishos) which is cherry tomatoes, buggalo mozzarella, basil and rocket.

This didn’t look like it was for one! Such a big ball of mozzarella. We probably should have shared, but I stuck to my guns of whatever I was thinking that evening and refused to have a bite of the carpaccio. God I’m a diva.

It came with bread as well! But I got that for Boy, since again, no flour apparently? What am I even thinking half the time.

Suddenly a voice came on the mic introducing the act for the evening. I can’t remember her name, but she had a great voice, and it made a nice atmosphere downstairs.

I had to skip off half-way through her set though since it was time for the mains!
I’ll be honest, I was really full after my huge ball of mozzarella and the tomatoes. Although I was full, I remember wanting pasta and sulking to Boy about how I wish they served spelt pasta here, and he laughed at how ridiculous my spelt pasta suggestion was.
I ended up getting the Strawberry Spinach Salad, adding King Prawns to it. The goats’ cheese is usually served cold, but I asked for it to be warmed up, which he kindly did for me. It has to be warm to be good for me!

Just as he finished making it, I noticed it something in the corner of my eye.

SPELT. PASTA. ARE YOU BLOODY KIDDING ME. WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS BEFORE. I’M SO SO STUPID. UGHHHH@$U*WU%)(Q(.

After having to remind myself that I was already full and it was unlikely I’d be able to finish my entire meal, let alone an extra meal of pasta, I walked away in shame to get Boy’s Capricciosa Pizza. Well, I ordered it and brought him the buzzer. He went and got it when it was ready.

Ham, mushrooms, artichokes, olives, tomato sauce and mozzarella.

I was bursting full (and not eating sugar as I remember, wtf was wrong with me that evening) but felt I needed to blog a dessert, so I skipped off and got Boy a Tiramisu. Lucky Boy. He never had a choice.

It’s a great place for a quick, casual evening, and check if there’s live music when you visit!

If I were you, I’d share any antipasti and go for the pizzas and the pastas here, clearly what it’s all about! Don’t do a Bianca and decide you’re being a freak. No one likes a freak at an Italian. 

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