Sano Pasta

Where did Sano Pasta come from?

Buoyed by success with their great value Neapolitan pizza chain, Sano have decided they'll have a crack at pasta too. They're obviously in the go hard or go home mindset, because this former Koh site on Millennium walkway is MASSIVE - we're guessing 100+ covers at a time is very possible (and desirable).

With that amount of space, and the casual eat quick vibe, a tightly run operation is key. People need to be served, fed, watered and out in whip smart time, or everything falls apart, and keeping those seats permanently filled? The food needs to be so good that all you can think about is eating it again, and again.

What's the space like?

See above. Gigantic. Great as the chances of you needing a booking are slim to none. Less great if you like a bit of atmosphere and not having to get out of your seat to find a server. They could really do with some kind of QR code ordering and paying system to speed things up.

Seating options in here are endless - booths, counters, round tables, long ones, a stool in front of the pasta making section if you want to see it being rolled, pinched and extruded (although this might feel like you're creeping on the pastaiolo if the restaurant's as quiet as it was when we visited). There's high chairs for mini diners, wheelchair access, and tonnes of space for buggies and bags, so accessibility is not an issue.

The one place we'd avoid sitting is the back room looking out onto Abbey Street, which feels like an overflow space just too disconnected from the action. The other problem with this venue? If it's not busy it just feels cavernous, the lack of atmosphere hanging uncomfortably in the air like an over ripe Italian cheese.

What's on the menu?

You’ll be shocked to hear, pasta! As well as some well-priced small plates (piattini) and desserts. Pasta prices range from €9 for a basic garlic and chilli, to €14.90 for the big boys with beef ragu or prawns. In comparison to other fresh pasta places in Dublin, prices are on a par with Dall’ Italia takeaway pasta bar, marginally below Sprezzatura, and about 40-50% less than Bar Italia, Grano and Borgo. It’s hard to see how there wouldn’t be an appetite for this, if the execution is as pitch perfect as it needs to be for repeat custom.

Here's the first hurdle. The cheap looking dinnerware. We’re not expecting €15 pasta to come served in gold-plated bowls, but it would be nice to feel like you’re eating off something more high quality than high volume catering plates (the same goes for the wine glasses).

Four slices of 24-month prosciutto di parma (€10) came plopped onto one of said plates, and while it was sweet and tender and exactly what was expected, the presentation needs work.

A tagliere dello chef, “a monthly tasting of artisanal cured Italian meats” (€10) came with three slices each of coppa, salami, and mortadella, and felt like very good value – however two slices of each and some pickles/bread/gnocchi fritto could have brought it up to where it needs to be to pack this room out.

Burrata e pomodori (€10) should have oozed out on cutting, but the fridge cold temperature kept the insides sadly solidified. There was no “torn basil”, the scantest amount of EVOO on the tomatoes, and look at that woeful presentation, as if an enthusiastic child was left in charge of creating a plate at a dinner party. See Padella in London for how to serve burrata, and how it should look when you slice into it.

So what about the main attraction!? There are four pasta types here, three of which are long – spaghetti, tagliatelle, pappardelle, and rigatoni as the outlier. For the carbonara and cacio e pepe you can choose between spaghetti and rigatoni, the rest come as they are.

Now listen up for something important you should know before ordering. They ask if you want cheese on your pasta. It’s such a strange question you’ll probably feel dis-armed, confused, “did I hear that right? Shouldn’t YOU decide if there should be cheese on my pasta? Who says no to cheese on pasta?” They then ask if you’d like Parmigiano or Pecorino. “Quick, panic, which of the five pastas I’ve ordered go with which cheese! Is the Pecorino meant for Cacio e pepe or Carbonara? Is this a test I'm about to fail!?”

At no point during ordering, nor is it stated on the menu that getting grated cheese on your pasta adds €1 to the price of the dish. Who, in what room, sat down and thought “a-ha! We can reduce the price of the dish by not automatically adding cheese on top, and making people pay if they want it! Genius!” Sure you may as well charge for the fork to eat it with, the glass holding the tap water you’ll be washing it down with. The light above shining down onto your plate so you can see what you're eating. Just price the dish properly and end this madness!

Anyway… Fresh from a recent trip to Rome, cacio e pepe and carbonara were always going to be on the order sheet. The first with rigatoni (€11.50, €12.50 with cheese on top) was the best plate we had, al dente pasta, a nicely bound sauce with plenty of fresh black pepper.

A carbonara (€13.50, €14.50 with cheese on top) was better than a lot of others we’ve had in our time, with properly crispy guanciale and nicely cooked spaghetti, but within a few fork twirls it had dried out so much that it became impossible to separate the strands anymore. A little more liquid would have solved the problem.

A ragu with "8-hour braised beef shank and fall apart pork rib" in a San Marzano tomato sauce (€14.90) promised so much, yet delivered so little. Badly under-seasoned, we found ourselves twisting salt grinders trying to eek the flavour out. When we relayed the feedback to our server she said some guests don’t like their food too salty so they leave the salt on the table for them to add. No further comment your honour...

A tagliatelle ai funghi (€11.90) came with over-cooked tagliatelle, bog standard mushrooms in “fresh sage butter” that looked and tasted like dried herbs, and little else. Like something you’d throw together at home on a Tuesday night for a spend of €2.

Our last effort was the Amalfitana (€14.90) with surprisingly tender prawns (langoustine-esque) in a Datterini tomato sauce with chilli, garlic and lemon, and this one packed some heat. A little bit too much, to the point where it blocked out any garlic and lemon. One of their better efforts though. (Just don't ask for cheese on this one or you'll fail the test).

Desserts aren't breaking the mould with panna cotta, tiramisu (with a Kinder version because that's what we've all been missing in our lives) and cannoli. A panna cotta in a glass is always a warning sign - if they were confident they'd let it wobble free. This one was lacking the required silky smooth yet gelatinous texture, and was drowning in a sickly sweet strawberry sauce.

The tiramisu, also premade in that unattractive glass, was perfectly nice with layers well balanced. An Illy cortado was, well Illy. They're not going over and above on much of the sourcing in here.

What are the drinks like?

Dull. The supermarket quality wines are all from the Bulmers group, as are the limited beers and pub-style soft drinks, and a Limoncello spritz arrived completely flat - last night's Prosecco we assume. There was certainly no sommelier involved to match the carbonara with Chianti, and give us tumblers over those thick-stemmed wine glasses any day.

How was the service?

Friendly but not at the races. We had to flag someone down consistently, plates and cutlery were taken away and never reset, and our complete surprise at the unadvertised €1 cheese charge was apologised for, but there was no offer to remove it from the bill. We were told that our feedback would be passed on, but that they couldn't guarantee anything would be done about it, which stinks of an unmanned ship in need of a strong captain.

What was the damage?

Just under €130 for three appetisers, five pastas, two desserts and two drinks - easily enough for four although you might want to add a couple of drinks. €40 a head will get you three courses plus a drink. That €1 cheese charge stings the most. Sounds like decent value? We'd rather pay more and get better quality every day of the week.

What's the verdict on Sano Pasta?

The unequivocal, absolute worst thing about experiences like this, the thing that would make you want to throw in the towel on writing about restaurants forever, is the crushing disappointment of all of the potential here that just hasn't been achieved. People might say "but it's cheap! What do you want!" And again we will say, cheap and value are not the same thing.

Sano Pasta could be HUGE if they did it right, queues down the street huge, even with that massive room. They could have literally copied (cough: taken inspiration from) places like Padella, Flour & Grape, Sugo in Paris, all with a similarly casual vibe serving fresh pasta at similar prices, but offering a hugely superior experience that just makes you want more.

In Dublin we're lucky to have places like Borgo, Bar Italia, Grano and newly opened Fuoco leading the way with fresh pasta, but they're not hitting that fast casual/could (and want to) eat here several times a week/spontaneous walk in market. It's there for the taking, but unless Sano Pasta goes back to the drawing board, we can't see them being the ones to conquer it.