Piccolino - Birmingham

Jesus Christ this place is absolutely shocking. Got seated straight away which wasn’t an issue however the service was absolutely shocking. I understand it might have been a little bit busy on bank holiday Monday but the staff are absolutely lazy and useless. I requested for the waiter to take my order and they said they would be back in a couple minutes. No one has came back in which I had to ask another waiter to take my order. This waiter also didn’t come back. The third time I ensured the waiter to take my order there and then. So we ordered 2 pasta dishes and 2 pizzas. Took about 45 mins to come out however as I was sat opposite the cooking station I must insist the food was let out on the hot plate for a good ten minutes as I could here the chef shouting at the other kitchen members to not leave the food out. Never the less they bought the food over to our take and our pasta was lukewarm and the pizza was just stale. Such a shame really as we have high expectations for a place like this. Will definitely be writing a complaint to the manager for the poor service. I’ve added a picture of the kitchen staff who couldn’t care less sat on there phone while I was waiting 45 mins for our food to arrive to our table

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 🫶

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.