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The story of our recipes
Every dish on our menu has a person behind it.
The pappardelle comes from my grandmother in Bologna, who taught me to roll dough by hand at six. The branzino is from a summer I spent on the Amalfi coast. The olive oil cake — that's my mother's, and the only recipe in the kitchen I haven't been allowed to change.
When you eat here, you're eating thirty years of borrowed kitchens.
A short guide to pairing wine like you mean it
Wine pairing is mystified for no good reason.
Three principles get you 90% of the way. Match the weight — bold food, bold wine. Match the region — what grows together goes together. And when in doubt, choose acidity, because acidity makes everything brighter.
The rest is preference. Drink what you love with the people you love. That's most of it.
Why we cook over open fire
The hearth is not for show. It's the slowest, most demanding piece of equipment in the kitchen, and it is the heart of how we cook.
Fire teaches you to wait. It teaches you to smell, to listen, to read the colour of an ember. There's no timer.
Food cooked this way tastes of patience. You can taste the difference. So can we.
Eating with the seasons, properly
Our menu changes weekly because the farmers' market does.
Tomatoes in August taste of August. The same tomatoes in February, shipped from the other side of the world, taste of nothing. It's not romance — it's just true.
Cook what's good now. The food gets better. The bill gets smaller. Everyone wins.