I could be endlessly amused by the entrance to L'Anima Cafe. The comedy of that mise en scène: a Lambretta scooter, wicker baskets full of suspiciously pristine produce. It's like something trying to shriek, "Italy!" at a trade show: try as it might, it can't quite disguise the clattery and functional space beyond. I'm also hugely entertained by the handsome maître d' who seats a table of Italians who have come in behind me while I'm ignored; as we all know, Italians don't do queues. The website simpers, "No bookings are necessary ever!" It's all terrifically diverting.
The room is partitioned into leather-sofa-filled lounge area and large square bar, behind which a huge wood-fired oven burps out pizzas at authentically brief intervals. Beside it, salsicce and salumi dangle underneath a sign reading, "Fatto qui" ("Made here"), although I'm told that most of them aren't. Perhaps that's why it's written in the singular. Beyond is the huge dining area, and beyond again, a deli and coffee shop. It has the air of a Terence Conran gastrodrome, with the same 1980s show-me-the-money sensibilities: a diffusion line for chef-owner Franco Mazzei's glittery swankpot of the same name around the corner.
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