If there’s one thing Londoners just can’t get enough of, it’s mid-priced pizza and pasta joints. Whether it’s a branch of a big, bland but reliable chain or a quirkier and allegedly more authentic independent, the local, modern Italian has become many diners’ default choice. Rossopomodoro does the job fairly solidly for Fulham-ites and South Kensingtonians but, with a bit of tweaking, could be so much better.

The Venue
Rossopomodoro occupies a corner site on the ever-fashionable Fulham Road almost opposite Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. Views of happy diners through its floor-to-ceiling, unadorned windows must do wonders for passing trade. The restaurant’s name translates as red tomato, of course, although the menu, in a rush of flowery verbosity, says it’s a pure Neapolitan tomato-shaped heart which spreads traditions and flavours around the world – a lot of meaning to pack into one 13-letter word. Either way, you can assume only one colour scheme was ever in the running: there are red mosaic tiles on pillars, red (and beige) napkins, and a row of high tables with red leather bar stools. Even some of the chefs in that modern restaurant must-have, the open kitchen, wear red baseball caps. The majority of the 150 covers are situated in a larger, upstairs room but street level is the place to be, watching Fulham life through those big windows.

The Atmosphere
On most weeknights, staff wisely open only the downstairs room which means it is soon buzzing and full, with some diners even being asked to come back later. Casually-attired, relaxed-but-not-rowdy couples and groups of all ages and nationalities throng the rather tightly packed, simple, wooden tables. It all feels terribly Italian, thanks to a busy takeaway operation and typically macho, proud, professional waiters.

The Food
Rossopomodoro is more about pizza than anything else, offering no fewer than 14 rosse options (with tomato sauce) 11 bianche (without) and four fried. Elsewhere, there are eight starters; eight pan and grill items like steak, chicken and mixed grill but not fish; six pastas and a gnocchi; 10 salads (eight large, two sides) and daily specials.

Bread appears without olive oil or butter, and is a tad chewy and hard, and seriously salty. At least it’s complimentary, however, as is less and less often the case these days. Starters take half an hour to arrive, although a parmigianetta (£5.50) is most certainly worth the wait. It looks great and tastes truly scrumptious; a neat, cylindrical tower of fried aubergine layered with gooey cheeses. There’s great depth of tomato flavour in the accompanying ragu sauce, the mozzarella is gorgeously stringy, and the cheesy crumb crust has been fried to perfect crustiness. Despite all this, the subtle flavour of aubergine shines through. O marinaro (£7.50) is a vast plate of cold seafood featuring welcome and unusual smoked swordfish, tuna carpaccio, steamed prawns and not-too-chewy octopus and squid. All the seafood is fine and there are pleasant salad leaves, although an accompanying slice of toasted bread is dull and pointless, and the addition of a single olive seems odd. A bottle of lemon olive oil is provided so that you can DIY (dress it yourself). This partially brings it alive, but it’s crying out for a good undiluted squeeze of lemon and a generous grind of salt and black pepper, none of which are provided.

If you’ve the nerve to order a tomato sauce-free pizza in a restaurant called that’s named after a red tomato with red decor, a baianese (£10.50) is large, thin and crisp at the edges with mozzarella, truffle and wild mushroom sauce. Note that word sauce – there are no mushroom chunks or shavings of truffle, but the brown ripples of sauce provide plenty of fab fungi flavour. Of the pastas, a bavettina (£10) is linguine with black olives, capers, pine nuts, breadcrumbs and anchovy sauce. The waiter warns that it is salty, and he is right! The pine nuts are a bit burnt, it’s all slightly greasy and somehow the ingredients fail to meld into a harmonious whole. Again, the wait for the mains is slightly too long.

There are 11 dessert options. Strangely, for an Italian place, ice cream or sorbet selections are not among them, although ice cream does appear as a component several times. Caprese (£5) is a divine slice of crumbly, deeply chocolaty cake, redolent with toasted almonds. The accompanying buffalo milk ice cream is fine, although it doesn’t score over regular, good-quality, cows’ milk vanilla. Squirty cream is superfluous and lowers the tone. You might have thought rum baba was quintessentially French, but it appears here (called babasone, £5) with more squirty cream and an enjoyable strawberry sauce. Crucially, it doesn’t come with much rum, so it’s really just a deconstructed doughnut.

The Drink
House white and red (of which the menu offers no further explanation) are £4.80 a 25cl glass and £14.80 a 75cl bottle so, bizarrely, if you order three glasses, you save 40 pence! Other than that, the wholly-Italian list comprises eight whites, eight reds and a solitary sparkler and rose. Entry level is a slightly hefty £19 for the whites and £18 for the reds, rising to £37 for a Taurasi DOCG, Montesole. Disappointingly, there is not a single dessert wine not on menu. Even more disappointingly (and unusually these days), only the house wines are offered by the glass, although the waiter claims they are happy to serve glasses of other wines on request. Why not put this on the menu, then?

That mysterious house white is crisp, refreshing and correctly cold without any great character or length. Its equally anonymous red counterpart is rather better with good tannins and red berry flavour. An icy shot of limoncello (£3.50) stands in well for that absent dessert wine.

At £2.50 for a 75cl bottle, Ferrarelle sparkling water should not arrive at room temperature. As with wines by the glass, the menu comes over all coy on the subject of tea and coffee, offering only espresso Neapolitan coffee at £2. Questioning reveals that cappuccino and filter are also available, plus a selection of teas.

The Last Word
Rossopomodoro is the proverbial curate’s egg. Its dishes range from dull to delectable, whilst service is friendly but on the slow side. One component you would always expect an Italian place to get right, the bread, is a let-down. Similarly, how can the land that invented ice cream (although some Chinese would debate that point) not offer a gelato or sorbet selection? Where’s the dessert wine, and why is the menu reticent about wines by the glass, and tea and coffee? Three courses plus half a bottle of modest wine will set you back £35 to £40: that’s no cheaper than other, similar establishments, so those bumps really ought to be ironed out. Having said that, Rossopomodoro’s location alone will probably ensure it is never short of customers.

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