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This week I’m reviewing Marino’s Italian Ristorante and Pizzeria, a little place in Watling Street Road in Fulwood that I’ve driven past countless times but never had the chance to visit.
I was excited to meet three friends who I’d known since high school there, but also felt a fair amount of trepidation because I’m always honest in my reviews and when I’ve mentioned to anyone that I’m planning to visit Marino’s at some point, I’ve received the same response every time, which was, “I love that place, you have to give it a good one!”
The owners of Marino’s say on their website that they’re passionate about family and food, combining their love of both to bring authentic, Italian cuisine, in a friendly, family atmosphere, so I crossed my fingers that they would deliver on their promises and went to meet my friends.
The best thing about such enduring familiarity between our little group is that we were able to get some wine down us and order our food before bothering to say “hello” to each other, but we got there eventually.
To my left was Whispering Coops: enemy of chaos and loud things, friend of dogs and all butter shortbread. She went for the ‘Nduja ravioli, one of the evening’s specials, and said that it was “really lovely, and not too spicy.”
Opposite me was Posy who holds down a high flying job but will accidentally post a giant “thumbs up” at some point in every conversation on the group chat. “My daughter passed her A Levels!” – Thumbs up! “My cat’s dead” – Oh… here’s the thumb again. Her Penne Al Salmone in a creamy tomato sauce was loaded with fresh, smoked salmon and, although she gave it her best shot, she was defeated half way through.
I made the mistake of telling the fourth member of our group that she could choose her own alias. The Dark Lord – a woman obsessed with building tiny, intricate model kits from China who has recently finished a miniature meth lab caravan from Breaking Bad, currently in the middle of building a loaf-sized Large Hadron Collider – chose Pollo Al Pepe which was served with a side of vegetables and chips. She said: “My chicken was fab and great value. Well-cooked veg, and very generous portions. Nicely peppery. V impressed!”
That was high praise from The Dark Lord who is a Grand Master of Human Resources with a black belt in Constructive Criticism. She can slip in a suggestion for improvement so stealthily that it doesn’t even register until a couple of days later when you find yourself speed walking to the nearest Booths for some organic micro-cress.
There were so many tempting choices on the menu that I was briefly catatonic with indecision, but eventually decided on lasagne – the beating heart of Italian food that should probably be eaten with a salad if you value your own beating heart. That said, I ordered a gloriously cheesy garlic bread with it and have no regrets. My friends ordered a tomato garlic bread for the table, but I get too territorial around food to cope with that kind of free-for-all.
Marino’s lasagne was a work of art, though if you ask AI to create a picture of the perfect lasagne it would in no way resemble the one placed in front of me. That’s because only a living being with senses and a stomach can know what a truly beautiful lasagne really is.
It was hotter than magma, and any drips of tomato sauce that ventured onto the side of the scorching dish instantly became two dimensional. Fragrant, herby sauce bubbled at the edges before merging with molten mozzarella, and the body of the lasagne was snuggled under the cheesy tomato blanket like the heating was off. It had the gloriously chewy bits at the sides that can only be achieved by a long and patient bake by someone with the iron will to resist the smell of a homemade lasagne long enough for it to get to that level of perfection without prematurely yoinking it out of the oven directly into their face using the oven glove as a spoon.
I also said “yes please” to the offer of some grated Parmesan on top, because I’d already committed to eating a year’s worth of cheese in one evening so what’s a couple more days tagged on?
After the evidence of our defeat at the hands of Marino’s food portions was cleared away, we dithered over whether we could jam a dessert into ourselves (absolutely not) then the evening took a weird eighties turn as The Dark Lord and Whispering Coops decided to order a Black Russian each.
Before alcopops were a thing, many younger people learned that alcohol can taste nice via 80s cocktails. The girls would manage about three Black Russians each before catching the 10.55 bus home. The boys would drink Jack Daniels and Coke and go home with Blue Bols. Everybody would at some point try Pernod and blackcurrant and regret it for the rest of their lives.
The Dark Lord offered me a sip of her cocktail but all I could reply was a weak “get that thing away from me, I’ve had too much cheese”, which is a sentence I’ve found myself saying far too many times throughout my adult life. Anyway, she seemed to like it.
Before we parted ways I was able to assure my friends that their beloved Marino’s would be getting a good review. The service was wonderful, with the waiting staff being on the ball without being flustered, forgetful or curt…not the easiest when a small restaurant is so busy. The meals were magnificent. Hearty, tasty, no choosing flashy presentation over serving the meals hot and fresh, and the aromas and flavours of the food were beautiful enough for it not to need any visual embellishment.
Like the food, the decor wasn’t uber-glamorous or flashy because it simply isn’t necessary. Instead, it was the perfect blend of warmth and welcoming cosiness that allows people to feel as comfortable dressed in jeans and trainers as they would being dressed up for a date night.
There was really nothing that might be improved by the restaurant apart from how difficult it is to find a copy of the “dine in” menu online, as only the takeaway menu will open. I usually copy the prices off a restaurant’s website when I write reviews, which is why they’re missing from here, but everything was very reasonable, especially for the quality of ingredients and the portion size. Drinks were also good value.
The only other thing worth knowing before a visit is that there isn’t a car park and the surrounding residential streets are quite narrow and were chock-a-block with cars by early Friday evening, so anyone with mobility issues might have to bear that in mind.
Marino’s is an authentic slice of Italy that everyone would love to have on their doorstep, but that could never be possible because what makes it so special is that the tangible heart and soul of a family-owned restaurant, and the happiness of its customers, are in every corner. Sadly for those of us who don’t live nearby, that precious element can’t be franchised or spread out amongst dozens of sister restaurants without losing what makes it so wonderful. But a taxi to Fulwood is still cheaper than a flight to Sicily, so that’s where I’ll be returning as soon as I have the opportunity.
Have you been to Marino’s and, if so, were you ready to come at me like you were defending Sparta Stand down, soldier, I thought it was lovely.
Read more: All of Karen’s reviews
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