Oxford is home to a great variety of Italian restaurants – from casual chains to quieter independent businesses, there are options for everyone. The Cherwell Lifestyle team decided to combine  our forces and put together a mini-guide to the Italian restaurants to suit all of your needs. 

Bbuona – ideal for a light, social meal

Bbuona is an independent café on the edge of Gloucester Green, whose speciality is the oval-shaped ‘pinsa’: a Roman-style pizza alternative which uses a mixture of flours to offer a lighter and more digestible option to the traditional Italian favourite. Bbuona’s sourdough is indeed light and airy, and although somewhat smaller than a traditional pizza, I found made for a very filling meal. The service is extremely friendly, and the dining experience feels closer to sitting in an authentic Italian deli than in the centre of Oxford. The price of a pinsa varies between £9.95 and £17.95, depending on the toppings (all of which consist of a combination of high-quality deli products). There is also a (multi-person) option to try all the toppings for £25pp. I opted for the parmigiana, a pinsa deliciously infused with the tastes of aubergine parmigiana. The table next to us was all sat in their sub fusc and sporting red carnations, and I reckon that with the combination of fresh, filling Italian food, and a chilled aperol spritz on the side, they might have found the perfect post-exam ritual. 

Gusto – a cosy upscale dinner  

The atmosphere was cosy, with flickering incandescent light. The menu was surprisingly extensive, creative too. There are interesting takes on classic dishes, like their signature starter: dough petals. It’s set at a reasonable price point, given that the portion sizes are generous, but not massive. However, it is certainly pricier than more student-friendly options. Perhaps one to opt for when family visits and can pick up the bill. The food comes out quickly, almost too quickly. There is hardly any time to digest in between courses. 

We ordered five dishes in total: two starters and three mains. I had the garlic rosemary focaccia first. The flavour was subtle and light, but the bread was fairly dry. My grandmother reported that her Caesar salad was excellent. The romaine was crisp, and the dressing was rich and flavourful. The salad itself needed to be chopped up a bit more, as it was hard to eat. 

My pollo arabiatta was particularly delicious; the chilli was light and sweet. It was not spicy at all, which I was not expecting, but the flavours more than made up for it. My grandmother’s sea bass was excellent as well, with a non-traditional red sauce, a combination of pine nuts and roasted peppers, creating a unique flavour profile. The fish itself was good, tasting quite like a branzino, flaky and moist. It was cooked perfectly. Finally, my grandfather had lasagna. Once more, the sauce was a unique take on traditional lasagna – closer to a penne alla vodka pink sauce. An unusual, but excellent take on a classic dish. 

Zizzi – a reliable, casual spot

While Zizzi is a chain restaurant, it is not to be overlooked. We left satisfied, full, and happy. The restaurant is very large and open, with lots of dining space, and so we definitely didn’t feel rushed. The service is very friendly. 

The menu is quite large, and we  choose to try two ‘rustica’ pizzas with some fries. These pizzas are much larger than average, stretched by hand to form a thin, crispy base. The ‘primavera’ had an array of fresh vegetables, with delicious Genovese pesto – a lovely vegetarian option for those wanting a change from the basic Margherita. The pepperoni campagna was, as described by my table-mate: “a beautiful blend of two classic pizzas”; the pepperoni worked wonderfully with the mushroom and ham. Both pizzas tasted even better with a generous drizzle of chilli oil. The fries were some of the best we’ve tried – deliciously crispy without being too greasy. 

We appreciated their small touches, like the complimentary paprika pasta crisps we were offered while we waited for our meal, and the small cup of hot chocolate that arrived with the bill. Prices are perhaps higher than other restaurants of a similar standard, with pizzas ranging from around £16 to £18, though there are many offers available (use your Tesco Clubcard points here). 

The fashion world is mourning the loss of John Galliano. Not a literal death, but something closer to a fall from grace. The designer, who defined an era at Dior, has entered into a two-year partnership with the fast fashion giant Zara. For some, this is a cause for celebration, a Robin Hood-esque democratisation of his genius, so to speak – after all, Galliano’s archival pieces remain some of the most sought after by celebrity stylists and Vinted warriors alike. However, for others, this feels like a betrayal: my initial reaction was admittedly one of shock and a sense of disappointment. God knows I have a weakness for a Zara sale, but surely, even in the current economic climate, Galliano didn’t have to end up here.

Galliano’s work has long existed within the realm of artistry rather than mere design, famously describing “the joy of dressing” as “an art”. His legendary tenure at Dior, spanning from 1997-2011, was known for its theatrical runway shows, with the catwalks being transformed into a stage upon which he paraded fantastical works oozing whimsy and fantasy. He drew inspiration from everything from Ancient Egypt and chinoiserie, to the indulgence and excess of Paris in La Belle Epoque, as can be seen in the pageantry of his Spring/Summer 1997 collection, metamorphosing the runway into a debutante ball at its most dreamy. Put simply, Galliano walked so Carrie Bradshaw and her Dior saddle bag could run. Bringing the same level of creativity to Maison Margiela as to the high street could, in theory, be seen as a kind of fashion egalitarianism. Nonetheless, I would argue that the mixed response to this partnership suggests something more complicated is at play. Galliano is far from an unproblematic figure, facing prosecution for antisemitic comments which ended his tenure at Dior in 2011. Yet I feel as though his appointment is not an isolated incident, but rather representative of a shift in the wider perception of fashion itself.  

What was once an art form has become about consumption and profit – art equals transaction in this capitalist economy. The rise of fast fashion lies at the centre of this tension, a double-edged sword. On the one hand, brands like Zara were the first to replicate the trend-led styles of the runway, making them accessible to a broader socioeconomic audience than ever before. On the other hand, it comes at a significant environmental and ethical cost, one that is becoming harder to ignore in an age of climate awareness and with the increased prevalence of alternatives such as second-hand shopping and conscious consumption. The very speed that makes Zara’s model accessible also depends on overproduction and disposability, with garments designed for short-term wear as opposed to longevity. In this sense, what is initially framed as democratisation begins to look more like a dilution, offering the illusion of participation whilst simultaneously undermining the craft and permanence that once defined fashion as an art form. Perhaps most interesting is the announcement’s wording, which seems to implicitly frame Galliano’s involvement as a form of fashion egalitarianism. After all, the collection’s stated purpose is to bring high fashion and dramatic design to a broader audience through the combination of Galliano’s couture process with fast-fashion capabilities.

This isn’t the first time that Zara has dabbled in the world of high fashion, collaborating with other acclaimed designers such as Narciso Rodriguez and Stefano Pilati, even releasing a capsule collection with Kate Moss. However, this new partnership – between a designer once shunned from his creative industry and a fast fashion giant – speaks to the changing idea of luxury in fashion. These kinds of high-low collaborations have become commonplace in the fashion world since H&M launched its first designer partnership with Karl Lagerfeld in 2004, building an entire business model upon the merging of luxury appeal and mass-market accessibility. This underscores how the industry is rethinking value, access and who gets to buy into trends. Exclusivity is no longer the sole marker of value, with access and immediacy becoming equally important, fundamentally reworking the idea of who gets to participate in fashion and at what cost.

And yet, for all my reservations, I can’t entirely reject the appeal. This is the contradiction at the heart of modern fashion, a growing awareness of its ethical failings, paired with an undeniable pull towards accessibility and trends. Fast fashion no longer thrives on ignorance, but on a kind of covertly conscious complicity. Consumers understand the environmental and ethical costs and yet are still drawn in by the immediacy and affordability. Frankly, if you’re telling me I can stroll into Westgate and buy Galliano without having to forfeit the entirety of my student loan, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be tempted.

By Victoria Corfield

Does Big Tobacco sponsor Paolo Sorrentino’s films? Almost certainly not, but their money would be worse spent elsewhere. One of the lasting images from Sorrentino’s latest feature, La Grazia, is of Toni Servillo smoking on the parapets of the Quirinal Palace overlooking Rome. Servillo’s expression is enigmatic, the view exquisite. As viewers of Sorrentino’s 2013 Oscar-winning triumph The Great Beauty will know, there are few things eminently more watchable than Toni Servillo slowly dragging on a cigarette.

La Grazia sees Sorrentino reunited with his long-time muse – and what a welcome reunion it is. Servillo plays the ageing, lame duck president Mariano De Santis, a legal expert who is a “jurist”, not a politician (sound familiar?). He would normally be facing his last six months in office with the same detachment and letter-of-the-law rigidity that have earned him the nickname “Reinforced Concrete”. However, a bill passed through parliament on assisted dying must be signed by him to become law, and thus, the president is faced with a dilemma. If he signs, he is an “assassin”; if he rejects the bill, he is a “torturer”. Two petitions for presidential pardons for convicted murderers complicate the picture: De Santis has the power to offer the titular “grace” to those on all types of life sentences, medical and criminal.  

A tired and grieving De Santis (he lost his wife some years before) proves an excellent vehicle for the film’s meditations on life, loss, and legacy. Who better to weigh up the suitability of euthanasia than a man who has seemingly lost all flair for life himself, who falls asleep when he prays and is still obsessed with an extramarital affair his late wife may have had 40 years ago? “Who owns our days?” is the question that De Santis keeps coming back to with the help of his daughter and legal advisor, Dorotea (an effectively exasperated Anna Ferzetti). But the film also asks: “Why should we care who owns our days?” Though De Santis is a genuine Catholic, the existentialism at the heart of the film is reminiscent of the tortured questioning of a lapsed Catholic at confession.

Boy, does Servillo have range. This is not his first time playing an Italian president, yet the contrast with his muted, shuffling Gulio Andreotti in Il Divo, and his exuberant Silvio Berlusconi in Loro is remarkable. He is able to convey a world of emotion in the most subtle of movements. It is no wonder the Venice Film Festival awarded him the Best Actor award.

As in those films, all the hallmarks of a Sorrentino film are here, if rather downplayed. The trademark big set-piece scenes do not disappoint. The Portuguese president’s welcome to the palace in biblical rain is reason alone to head to the cinema. A dinner for veterans of the Alpini, Italy’s mountain regiment, at which De Santis is the guest of honour, is profoundly moving. As ever with Sorrentino, the soundtrack is full of thumping electronic music, although this time with the humorous (you’ll see why) addition of some Italian rap. You will leave the cinema with a host of unexpected, striking images – and a surprising affection for a horse called Elvis.

This is the most melancholic of Sorrentino’s films that I have seen, but it was nonetheless much funnier than I expected from a film about assisted dying. From the reactions of those around me, the Ultimate Picture Palace audience certainly agreed. Much of the comic relief comes in the form of the acerbic Coco Valori (Milvia Marigliano), De Santis’ old friend, whom I could happily watch an entire film about. (Or maybe I already have? As a critic-cum-impresario, she is like a female version of Servillo’s man about town in The Great Beauty.)

If the film fails to fully capture the deep sadness of the assisted dying debate, it is due in part to the at-times clunky dialogue, also, unfortunately, something that can be expected of Sorrentino’s films. The ending might strike some as too saccharine, but if you allow yourself to be swept up by the admittedly contrived plot, you will leave the cinema feeling pleasantly revived. Sorrentino’s more muted direction here might also surprise those who came expecting the bright colours and relentless opulence of The Great Beauty. Sorrentino’s famous maximalism may be gone, but the dry humour is certainly still there, just not wrapped in a bouquet of colour but instead a dull, wintry palette.

Will this be the definitive film about euthanasia? Probably not. But it certainly makes you ponder the similarities between death and justice, and to question the suitability of those who wield such decisions. If nothing else, it is worth going for Toni Servillo’s performance alone.