Giardinetto, Charlotte Street, London <br></br>Paolo's, Percy Street, London

Amid the arch surroundings of London's Fitzrovia, two authentic Italian restaurants are serving seriously good, simple food. Richard Johnson tucks in ...

A team of scientists from Cambridge has been busy testing (and I'm reading from my clipboard here) "the kinetic energy, centrifugal force and coefficient of pasta". After God knows how long, they have worked out the best way to eat the stuff and keep the sauce off your shirt. Here are their findings, published in full. Hold your fork vertically and twirl the pasta on to it. Then lift your fork, catching any residual sauce with your spoon. And for this they get grants?

The Italians are unimpressed – they never use spoons for their pasta. Not necessary. Over there, it's an exact science. Which means there is a precise pasta/sauce ratio. Incidentally, they don't cut pasta either – it's like saying the chef has chosen the wrong shape. I once ate with a man who made his pici three-metres long. And pici is thick. As I wondered how best to engage the huge ball of pasta on my plate, I realised he was playing a joke. Ha ha!

I have just found two new Italian restaurants – Paolo's and Giardinetto – where they don't joke about food. Both are situated in Fitzrovia, the most self-conscious, arch, and ironic quarter of London. And both have a utilitarian ambience – think Ikea canteen on an industrial estate – that is authentically Italian. But both, more importantly, produce great food. As long as you tiptoe carefully through the antipasti, paste, secondi piatti and dolci.

The basement of Giardinetto (a totally inappropriate name that means "little garden") is harshly lit. A touch less neon, and we wouldn't have noticed the damp. Or the barmat propping up the table leg. Or the fake flowers scattered so lazily about the place. But at least we had no problem reading the menu. And, what with Giardinetto being the only Genoese restaurant in London, I felt there was a lot for us to read and digest.

Italy has a north/south divide that puts ours in the shade. Christ stopped at Eboli. Which means he only got to try the rich, butter-based cuisine of the North. But what the hey. We have to assume He knew what He was doing. While I pondered the mysteries of the north Italian wine list, the waiter came over and said, "I bring a bottle. You don't a-like – we a-change." He arrived with a plate of Parmesan – broken, by hand. This is a restaurant that doesn't do "shavings".

The speciality of Giardinetto is a charbonnierre – a hot stone brought for you to cook your meat at the table. But I don't come to a restaurant to cook my own tea. Capisch? So I ordered the magnificent lamb cutlet cooked with port as part of my two-courses-for-£23 meal deal, and drank grappa until the boss started to count the evening's takings. Giardinetto couldn't be more Italian if it tried. As we climbed the stairs to leave, the waiter shouted out after us. "Next time, you bring your passport!"

* At Paolo's more money has been spent on the décor – matching table napkins with the blonde-wood dining sets. It boasts natural light. And fresh tulips. But again it's the staff that make this restaurant special. Paolo was out on the evening we visited, so Sergio, the manager, was making the most of the tape deck.

When he wasn't checking his bald spot. He played 1980s pop balladeer Umberto Tozzi for our delectation. The effect was a million miles away from the chianti-bottle-and-candle I was expecting.

I then had the privilege of watching Neris as she tried tagliolini Paolo – would that I could ever create such paroxysms of delight on her face. It was the first time she had tasted the deep, farmyard savour of black truffle. When you fold it into pasta, you begin to understand why 80 per cent of taste relates to smell. Paolo's home-made tagliolini perfectly illustrated that 1) a little truffle goes a long way, and 2) when it comes to truffle dishes, the simpler, the better.

The menu wasn't adventurous like Giardinetto's, so I was disappointed to see so many old stalwarts propping up the menu. But, at £8.50 for a pasta course, it was cheap. And Paolo's pasta does deserve real kiss-my-ring respect. Just don't spoil it by asking for Parmesan on any dish that involves fish. You wouldn't like Sergio when he's mad.

If this had been a Spaghetti House, I would have ordered a cappuccino to round off the evening with an After Eight mint. But I know that would have upset the staff at Paolo's. Real Italians drink espresso after dinner – cappuccino is deemed a beverage for breakfast. Either way, I left feeling full to busting. I had eaten the type of meal that demands a belch. But that's always the trouble with Italian food – five or six days later and you're hungry again. E

Giardinetto, 69 Charlotte Street, London W1 (020-7637 4907). Paolo's, 16 Percy Street, London W1 (020-7637 9900)