Nothing at Pete’s Place looks like it’s changed in decades – not the familiar red-and-black-checkered tablecloths and napkins, not the brickwork and, in some cases, we suspect, not the waiters either. If the famously well-stocked salad bar doesn’t tempt you, the fettucine bolognaise might; it’s meaty and sweet with carrots, while the thick loops of pappardalle are stirred with mushroom and heady thyme notes. Like the discs of wood-fired pizza that waft across the room, it’s all a little rough and ready; but that’s part of the nostalgic charm of a restaurant that still fills up, even on weekdays, with a mix of families and solo hotel guests.
