There’s a particular kind of warmth that only true regional Italian cooking can deliver — the kind that feels less like dining out and more like being welcomed into someone’s home. Via Emilia by Food Roots, newly opened on All Saints Road in Notting Hill, leans into that feeling with conviction. It’s the third outpost for the group, already beloved in Fitzrovia and Shoreditch, and this latest location continues their mission to bring the flavours of Emilia Romagna to London with almost scholarly devotion.
I went for lunch with my fellow writer/food-loving friend Anna, and from the moment we stepped inside, the space felt like a gentle exhale. The interior is understated — light browns, creams, and wide street-facing windows that flood the room with natural light. It’s chic without trying too hard, the kind of place where you settle in and instinctively know you’re going to linger.
Via Emilia’s menu is built around nine pasta dishes, each tied to a specific town or province in Emilia Romagna. They’re titled in the original Emilian dialect, a detail that could feel gimmicky elsewhere but here simply underscores the restaurant’s commitment to authenticity. Everything is made by hand daily, following family recipes that have clearly been honed over generations.
Anna and I started with a glass of sparkling red wine — the region’s iconic Lambrusco — served playfully in ceramic bowls. It’s a small touch, but one that instantly transports you. Alongside it came a shared cheese and meat platter, a generous spread of Prosciutto, Mortadella, Pancetta, Parmigiano, and Caciotta. The standout was the Gnocco Fritto: warm, gently puffed fried bread that you tear apart with your hands before layering with cured meats. It’s messy, tactile, and utterly joyful.
For mains, we split two dishes. The sage and pumpkin ravioli was delicate and fragrant, the pasta thin enough to feel handmade but sturdy enough to hold its silky filling. The butter-and-sage dressing was restrained, allowing the sweetness of the pumpkin to shine.
The beef ragù spaghetti — a Bolognese in its truest, slow-cooked form — was deeply comforting. Rich without being heavy, it clung to the exceptionally fresh pasta in exactly the way you hope a ragù will. It’s the kind of dish that reminds you how often London gets “Bolognese” wrong.
We finished with the light tiramisu, made with egg whites instead of yolks. It arrived cloud-like, airy enough to feel almost guiltless, yet still carrying the espresso-soaked punch you want from the classic. It was the perfect ending: familiar, but with a twist that made it feel entirely their own.
What sets Via Emilia apart is its unwavering commitment to regional accuracy. This isn’t a pan-Italian crowd-pleaser; it’s a culinary love letter to one specific part of Italy, delivered with care, clarity, and a sense of pride. The service is warm, the atmosphere relaxed, and the food — thoughtful, educational, and genuinely delicious.
Notting Hill has no shortage of restaurants, but Via Emilia brings something rare: a dining experience that feels both rooted in tradition and refreshingly unpretentious. Anna and I left already planning our return, which is perhaps the best endorsement any restaurant can hope for.
