Happy big plate day,” my friend texted our group chat last Friday. After weeks of waiting caused by someone catching a certain virus, we were going to Ciao Bella, an Italian restaurant in central London, renowned for its big portions and even bigger vibes.
The last time the three of us ate out together, last summer, we went to a “small plates” restaurant almost by default, as these kinds of places had come to signify going somewhere a bit special, a bit fancy. For the purposes of this article, I’ll define a small plate as anything advertised to be shared, smaller than a main but bigger than one bite of food, priced around £6 to £12. But you know what I’m talking about. You can already picture the Nordic simplicity of the earthenware plate, the pared-back decor of the restaurant, the menu featuring confrontationally blunt options such as “oyster mushrooms”, and nothing so gauche as a pound sign to be seen.
