Giulia

In happy remembrance of Italy, Thrud, another friend, and I just had dinner at an excellent new Umbrian restaurant a stone's throw from my door. The food was worthy of the conversation, which was of gods and Medicis. I wish they did lunches: their dinners are dear (but not arrogantly so). We shared all our dishes but dessert.

Of their sfizi ("whims"), we chose their warm semolina cakes with lardo. Comfort food for the Medici. Meltingly buttery.

For our antipasti, we first had burrata di puglia with charred peppers, golden raisins, and pine nuts. This is a lovely newborn mozzarella, only just barely curded: a cloud of cream. Then
what was listed as prosciutto di parma with heirloom apples, and aged parmigiano—except Thrud asked for their mortadella, and got it.

Then three dishes of pasta: bucatini all’amatriciana (house cured pancetta, tomato, onion, pecorino); lobster agnolotti (umbrian truffles, chives and lobster brodetto);
pappardelle with wild boar (black trumpet, juniper and aged parmigiano). Subtly fiery; Tethystic—if that's an adjective—at any rate, deeply and delicately briny, though the truffles were a bit overwhelmed; earthy. The boar came from Québec: I asked.

Then their house-made lamb sausage with broccoli rabe, pepperonata and gigante beans. O happy peasants!

The farmer's choice of the day turned out to be a little black skillet of cardoons and artichokes done in a creamy sauce with crumbs

Then we all had panna cotta (madagascar vanilla bean, poached quince): one each, in blissful silence. That last is what the seraphs eat in heaven.

Speaking of dessert, Thrud again praised my "amazing" chocolate cake, saying that she'd never had better. I glow.

I hope my friends will come and indulge themselves when they're in town.