I was attracted to this restaurant because, by contrast with other restaurants in this area, it seemed unassuming and unpretentious: plain furniture, neon lighting, pictures of football teams on the walls, a radio blaring Italian pop. It's the kind of place I'd avoid at home; here, somehow, I thought it must be authentic because it's so ugly. And it's true that the food is real home cooking: the owner, the apparently famous ex-boxer Frankie Banana, does the cooking himself in his little kitchen. And the food isn't bad: I had the antipasti of the house and a porcini pasta, both of them quite palatable, but nothing special; indeed, the melanzane was rather tough, and the pasta more al dente than non-Italians are used to. So I think I could have found something a bit better at the same price elsewhere. And without the strip lighting.
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