
Modest eatery serving standard Italian fare including pizza, pasta & grinders.
Hours
| Sunday | 10:30 AM–9 PM |
| Monday | 10:30 AM–9 PM |
| Tuesday | 10:30 AM–9 PM |
| Wednesday | 10:30 AM–9 PM |
| Thursday | 10:30 AM–9 PM |
| Friday | 10:30 AM–10 PM |
| Saturday | 10:30 AM–10 PM |
Address and Contact Information
Address: 510 W Main St A, Meriden, CT 06451
Phone: (203) 634-4000
Website: http://meriden.illianosct.com/
Menu Photos
Order and Reservations
Order: Order online
Photo Gallery
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Illiano’s
Reviews
Definitely good pizza here!
I ordered:
Grandma Pizza
An old fashion style square pan pizza with a medium thick crust. Sliced mozzarella is placed on the dough first, then topped with marinara sauce, garlic and oil, seasoning, basil, and parmigiana cheese.
The pizza here isn’t bad. I should have tried a traditional cheese slice. The flavor was there but not enough cheese. I love the prominent garlic.
The poor waitress was also the front desk person and couldn’t balance and juggle all the customers/orders.
I’ll be back and hope to change the rating upon that visit.
(I took it home added more cheese and that improved it. However the cheese was suppose to be at the bottom so I ruined it on a sense)
* this is not Sicilian
The lights were low. The oven roared. And the scent — dear God, the scent — it hit me like a kiss on the neck: smoke, spice, and something sinful rising from the dough.
The pizza — thick crust, blistered and golden, begging to be touched. I spread it open, felt the steam on my lips, the cheese stretching like silk between parted mouths. I bit down. It groaned.
The sauce was sweet, then sharp — a slap and a kiss.
But the lobster ravioli — that was pure sin.
Pillows of pasta stuffed full of tender, ocean-sweet flesh, soaked in a butter sauce so rich it practically dripped through my lips. Hands down the best meat that has ever devoured my mouth. No shame. None at all. I would’ve begged for more, on my knees, if the waitresses had asked.
And when I thought I could take no more — that my body had reached its limits — they brought the chocolate cake.
Dense. Dark. Moist. It came chilled, slightly cold as if it had arrived to put out the fire burning deep inside me. I sank my fork into it and watched the center spread out, slow and sticky. The first taste coated my tongue with passion. The second? A full-body shudder.
Five stars. I came for a slice. I left in pieces. I didn’t just eat. I was fed, worshipped, and undone.