And then, I wanted to let you know that Balera just opened in Brooklyn. And it’s terrific. And the connection to Mumbai? It is also a Barbera story.

I love Balera’s motto: a simple place for simple people. The Roman thin-crusted pizza is powerfully flavored. I had the rosso, can’t stop thinking about it. Jen ordered the mozzarella in carrozza. The last time I had this classic—why-do-I-need-to-order-it dish—was at Tommaso’s a million years ago, when Melissa and I went with Frank Bruni. This is better. Not sticks but triangles—perfectly breaded. The sauce—it’s about the sauce. Tang, acid, perfect tomato. The cheese isn’t the main affair; it’s a partnership.

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Welcome to my cheat sheet of Parisian places I love, have loved, and hopefully will love. 

This is a living document—check back for updates. When there are meaningful additions, I’ll ping you.

The kind of places I look for? Wine list first. Ingredient focused. Casual. 
Please feel free to leave your own favorite spots and why in the comments.

RESTAURANT/BAR À VIN

Grazie  (3rd) (7-7) Here's your Sunday/Monday Paris spot. Pizza is fine, no problems there. Sides limited and delicious. Fresh! But the wine list? Aged Italian wines for a song? I love this sleeper of a place.

Bistrot L'escale (4th) (7/7) An all-day, every-day café pulled from obscurity and revived with a new chef and fresh energy—while thankfully keeping its divey soul. Hallelujah. Expect comfort food and garlicky snails. My soup was eh, the wine was fine (and cheap), but the lentils—which should have been boring—were stellar. I’d go back again and again.

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The trip to Berlin in December 2025 wasn’t about work, it was about friendship. But Liz had to put up with my obsession about food and wine— which she did with grace. And anyway, those were much needed after a heavy dose of history.

Where’s the traffic?

The lack of traffic was a huge and pleasant surprise. Is Berlin actually… livable? While the trains get you anywhere, the city is disorienting. Three days is not nearly enough to get bearings. If you have limited time, I’d suggest you focus on Kreuzberg, Prenzlauer Berg, and Neukölln.

Great coffee? Not so much. I came for dense bread. All I saw was sourdough. But the food was lovely. Wine spotty, but great if you know where to go.

All Holocaust, All the Time

The Germans don’t back away from their past.

The parallels to what’s happening in the U.S. right now were nightmare provoking, but important. To me, Michel Foucault’s belief that fascism “causes us to love power, to desire the very thing that dominates and exploits us” explains the blind devotion too many have to Trump— of course along with a strong dose of fear of retribution of those who enable him.

But onto the city.

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Tomas Turner, who co-owns the excellent Avintures wine shop, put it bluntly: “Wine shops will fold. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. There are too many.”Le Soleil has drastically reduced hours. Crème Comptoir is flirting with burnout. La Dilettante may be for sale— the hope is that the sale goes to someone who can keep it going with the same philosophy. And I bumped into three people were were dining at Le Relais de Saulx. Never been. Have you?

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Couldn’t do too much in 48 hours.

.My only big regret was not taking a walking tour of Art Deco Mumbai. I did a double take when I saw the Eros Theatre (recently reworked, and I’m sure they ruined the interiors). I had no idea it had the second largest collection of Deco buildings outside of Miami.

You’ll want to walk around the Kala Ghoda District. Of course, if you’re a shopper you’d have found it without me. But there’s all sorts of intersting stuff like fish leather.

Those dreamy green leather sabots underneath the card? They were about $250. Pricey but…. When in town you can find them here.

Because of scaffolding I was completely unware that I had spent hours in Keneseth Eliyahoo’s shadows, walking and lunching at a fabulous Lebanese place, hiding in boutiques while the skies opened.

So, having been low on the tourist track, I made a quick dash for it the next morning before my flight.

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Delhi-Agra-Mumbai. I’m still processing the smells, the density, the food, the feelings, the colors. And so, here is a disorganized snapshot of some of the favorite moments and some tips on, if you go for a short time, what not to miss.

Am I the only person to have gone to India and managed not to step a foot inside a temple? Next time. Promise. However, I was shamed into going to the Taj. “How can you be so close!” I know. Ridiculous.

So on day four I headed to Agra with two other people who tagged along. Most of you who have the Taj on your list will do the wise thing; spend the night so you can either catch this marvel of marble’s luminescence in the luxe light of dawn or dusk —without the masses. Most of you will not go on a Saturday during Diwali week—as I did. The lines are nearly impossible. But if you do a day trip from Delhi for a silly but efficient in-and-out-run, take-your-picture, leave trip — do budget at least four hours each way. (Getting gas is an adventure that can take upwards of an hour.) And if you get a tour guide like I had, tack on two more hours—a complete waste of time. You are forewarned. Learn from my mistakes.

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The anti-Russian vibe is still evident.

Nightly in the capital, protesters march and beseech. They clamor for the release of the 52 or so political prisoners. “Fuck Putin” is everywhere. And on the culinary/wine side? The scene is thriving, maybe because of the friction. Adversity breeds creativity, and, the growth of natural wine pushes forward.

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When you consider that garlic didn’t arrive as an import into this country until 1979 (grown in Iceland only recently), one could wonder about the deliciousness of the local cuisine. But the truth is I only had one regrettable south of the capital, but inside of Reykjavík? Well, there was spectacular coffee, wine and food.

BAKABAKA After dumping my bags at a modest but sweet hotel, I ran about ten minutes to the café offshoot of the most celebrated take-out bakery in the city. It did not disappoint. Cozy. Plenty of women in ponytails. I had a very fine latte and as promised, some densely packed rye bread that was sour, moist, and with that complex, touch of funky butter? Exactly the kind of hello I wanted.

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I’m not a cardamon bun lover, but if you are, you’ll be in heaven. A flaky crust, intensely fragrant spice, an interior that pulls with integrity. My only regret is not getting this chocolate-splattered cake they called a cookie.

Or coming back to sample whatever wines they had and taste their pizza. I just didn’t have time but I do suggest you give it a go. But, I did go back for lunch and had an earthy, wholesome, nourishing celery root soup.

BRÚT RESTAURANT Ólafur Örn Ólafsson’s restaurants are famed for a reason. Plunk this one is on your must go list.

Sheltered in the Radisson Blue 1919, Ólafur partnered with Michelin-starred chef Ragnar Eiríksson (former head chef of Dill Restaurant). Expect to bungee jump between intense and delicate flavors. The gnocchi were not fluffy, they were more like golf balls, but I saw them as a vehicle for flavor. Intense. Earthy. Cheesy, yet not heavy. The broccolini, dressed with a pesto made from the broccolini leaves, with a mustard sauce giving a further kick, was powerful, and headily bitter. But the coup de grace? It was peppered with a shaving of pecorino and salty capers which far from being too many conflicting flavors seemed to bridge the disparate pieces.

One of my favorite dishes of the year for sure.

The list has a section called “Funky Shit.” That’s where you’ll find Julien Guillot, Koppitsch and Chateau Musar (Really? Hmm. Maybe because of brett?). There’s plenty to choose from. But don’t ignore the other categories where some natural folk slipped in, such as Maison En Belles Lies. Yes, wine is expensive but not scarily so. But for the best taste-to-value ratio focus on the $120 a bottle and under price point. That Musar? $110. I loved this place.

DILL RESTAURANT “You have to go to Dill.” Everyone said that.

I had last been fed by chef Gunnar Karl Gíslason when he was in New York City as the executive chef of Agern in Grand Central. (Do any of you remember that fantastic beet?) That had been such a memorable meal. I wanted to see what he would do with his native traditions and ingredients, but I just couldn’t fork over the time commitment for a tasting menu. But when I was invited to come in to check it out for an aperitif (full disclosure they refused to take any money from me), I couldn’t resist.

Dill is on the main city drag a few blocks up from Brút. Designed by Icelandic set designer Hálfdán Pedersen, the space, up the winding staircase, is stunning, rich in woodsy colors and textures and one has the feeling of sitting in a foresty clearing. Or at least I did.

When a glass of Horiot Métisse appeared in front of me, with just the right oxidative nutty notes with a lime charger, I was super happy. Ensconced on a velvet settee near the window overlooking the main shopping drag of the city, I pushed through the wine list. A great attempt has been made to source well.

Much might be left over from when winemaker Jasmine Swan (Katla in the Mosel) had been the head sommelier. 2Naturkinder? Bini? Nestarec? Yes, the greatest Austrian hits are there: Tschida and GutOggau with a few oddballs like La Chablisienne. That felt a little out of character.

The bites that went along were layered, witty and often intense.

The soup came in an espresso cup. Its stock had been made by a very slow simmer over four days. Silky arctic char was smoked over the traditional sheep dung, the maple-sweetened carrot coined, savory onion cake. Intensely rich and ever-so slightly sweet. I did love those carrots but if it had been lox, the, the marriage would have worked as well. Months later, I’m convinced it was one of the morsels of the year for me.

VÍNSTÚKAN TÍU SOPA Charlotta Ros who showed me wine after wine told me that they aim to be a casual spot where one can discover bottles that aren’t everywhere. And she delivered.

The place is a bare-bones, basement bar that reminded me of a Cambridge, Massachusetts coffee shop in the 70s.

The food here is adequate, so it’s best to go with a snack and leave the meal for another destination. Or stop in for a post-meal snack and hang out and get a little rowdy. But do let Rós decide what you should drink. For me, the wine of the evening was the Val de Combres, Les Vacances; vibrant, soify, fun. And as if that weren’t enough, there were these signs which should be everywhere natural wine is sold.

Other spots for a good glass is the slightly more sophisticated Apero. (and as this was written in 2022, I’m sure there are other options now.)

And for your spin around the Ring Road?

For drink, I’d advise you to stock up on a few bottles in Reykavik. And if not, do what I did. Drink martinis and the local aquavit called Brannevin. It does the trick!

Once outside the city, getting something good to drink was sketchy. I had a truly dreadful meal at an inn not far from the Black Sand Beach. Family run, supposedly farm to table. I guess the farm was in Mongolia and the food arrived by canoe. I don’t want to mention their name because they were sweet, but the food hurt. Once again, though, Brannevin saved the night. And, they did have a nice hot tub, but alas, no Northern Lights.

A hotel near Geysir had grade-C hotel conference food and generic rooms. Avoid. Not what we were after.

Yet the Glacier View Guesthouse between Vik and the big ass glacier is exactly the kind of place you want. Not luxe but perfect and homey. It has what you need, including communal meals where you sit at the table and meet the other guests.

I’d avoid the tomato farm restaurant even though it’s in all the guidebooks. The food is mediocre and there was something truly sketchy about eating in a greenhouse filled with bred tomatoes, like a puppy mill. You’ll inevitably pass by Eldsto Art Café. The pottery from their volcanic sand is terribly expensive but I’m still thinking about the mugs I left behind.

Black Sands Beach? Their cafeteria had the best “happy marriage cake.” And man, why didn’t I get that Ilse Jacobsen raincoat at the gift shop at the Gullfoss?

Selfoss is a relatively vibrant town. It’s a great stop for coffee and a visit to the GK Bakari for some plane food and a terrific, sour, and complex rye bread which might have been even better than what I found in Reykjavik.

A hot ice cream tip that is not in the touristy books?

For possibly the best ice cream ever, Efstidalur. They also have an inn, which we should have opted for over the biz-hotel in Geysir. So remember that tip!

BakaBaka
Bankastræti 2 101, 101 Reykjavík, Iceland
Closed Sundays

Brút
Pósthússtræti 2, 101 Reykjavík, Iceland
Open nightly, check for hours

Dill
Laugavegur 59, 101 Reykjavík, Iceland
Open every other week from Tuesdays to Fridays and the other week open from Wednesdays to Saturdays

Vínstúkan Tíu Sopa
Laugavegur 27, 101 Reykjavík, Iceland
Closed Mondays & Tuesdays

Crème  
Comptoir. Café
27 Rue Paradis, 21200 Beaune, France 

9h-20h Tuesday et Thursday 
9h-23h Wednesday et Friday
9h-16h Saturday

Heading to Beaune soon? Put Crème on your itinerary for any casual meal during the day. Open non-stop. No reservation. A rarity.

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These are wine bars but with adjacent wine shops. Order a glass, purchase bottles for take away or to drink on site. This privilege only costs a little more than retail, so you avoid the normal wine list mark-up. What you don’t miss is a convivial time with enough snacks to cover your pre-dinner game or game itself. 

The food can run the gamut from chopped, sliced or tinned, (fish, saucisson, cheese, olives, etc.) to full out culinary flair like pissaladière, tortilla or even lasagna. But what I love about the ones I love is that they are informal and fun and offer what we do not have here in New York City, an affordable night or evening out.

So these are my current top five. Browse the shelves to make your decision, sure, but sometimes it’s a little logistically tough. If the place is busy which often is the case, you often have to reach over another drinker’s space—apologizing with every label inspection while you make up your mind. Have no fear, there will be a friendly ‘‘non’ sommelier, who can help. Usually, after a rushed consultation, they will present you with their suggestions. Just make sure you provide them with some guidance, like a chenin that will surprise, something from the mountains but red, a very horsey syrah, hefty- skin contact Georgian. Whatever. Do ask the cost upfront, but most likely the bottle price will be sensible.

Here you go. 

Most won’t take reservations. 

All destination worthy, all relatively inexpensive (Septime being a little higher but you can still get a glass of great champagne for 16 euro). 

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Her épeautre (spelt) loaf, and dense seigle (rye) way surpassed those more famous such as Mamiche, which I don’t get. Her soup sustained me. So did her quiche.

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Ara, around the corner, was a vegan bean-to-bar chocolatier. And an extra bonus, the confections are barely sweet. I was also a twelve-minute walk from the mat pilates of my dreams. You have absolutely no reason to come to this hood (unless you want to sample the multiple wedding clothing stores) but if you find yourself, let’s say, going out of your way to go to the textile district (silk taffeta at 19 euro a meter) you might consider taking a stroll down Rue Faubourg du Poissonière and booking a table for dinner at Les Arlots. Okay. Let’s start with proper restaurant recommendations.

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The new industry hangout, Josephine in København is a must. (Thanks to Lisa Abend for the tip.)

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Yes. I was in Iceland. Yes, I saw melting glaciers, spouting geysers, smoking earth, and moss-covered lumps hiding centuries of secrets. No Blue Lagoon, but steaming outdoor baths, black sand, sheep, petite ponies and more waterfalls than I knew could exist in a tiny place. I came away wondering why does everyone seem to offer a tomato soup when all they have are pretty but not great hot house ones?

Best meal out of Reykjavik? Glacier View Guesthouse. After a quick stop at the black sand beach, we had a far too good for the café, “happy marriage cake” (kind of a rhubarb buckle) and called ahead and said, yes, please, we’d love you to make us dinner. En route we rode past that bumpy green carpet that turned out to be the Eldraun lava field. This was one of the remaining testaments to the devasting eight-month eruption from Laki that started in 1783 and created toxic plumes that killed thousands in Europe. Nature.

At our dinner, the other travelers joining were two from Brooklyn, two from Portugal and a solo traveler from Holland—politically incorrect Belgium jokes flowed. Latecomers were two Russians who were incredibly uncomfortable and even more uncomfortable when they found out someone at the table spoke Russian. I can’t imagine what it must be like for them traveling, or perhaps they were escaping to Iceland, avoiding the forthcoming draft? Even in the rurality of it all, the world bears down.

As great as it was, the truth is that I thrive being on the job. So, my day in Reykjavik for my event with many representatives of the Icelandic wine business scene (sommeliers, wine directors, importers) was so invigorating.

A trio of people made this happen. Ólafur Örn Ólafsson, based in Iceland (wine bar/restaurant owner par excellence), Tinna Óðinsdóttir, who though Icelandic now lives and works in Denmark and finally, the remarkable Alba Hough--sommelier now distiller--ultimately took the reigns of my welcome and the architecture of the event.  After a lunch and a great coffee, she and I headed to the city’s main drag, up the steps to Apero where host, ex-pat (Quebecois) Marie Odile Désy had Foillard by the glass. A prize in that city.

The conversation spanned from wine colonialism to natural wine agebility to the possibility of growing vines on the island. The problems? No light for so many months and then too much light. And what about their powerful winds? (Not so much I think though it can be brutal.) Some wild ideas came out, like planting on top of geothermal sources (me thinks not a great idea), or by the coast, or what about in pits, like in the Canary Islands? The wines we had were not Icelandic, and they were so delicious I was sure it was a flower day, but it was a leaf! Maybe it's backward in Iceland?

As great as it was, the truth is that I thrive being on the job. So, my day in Reykjavik for my event with many representatives of the Icelandic wine business scene (sommeliers, wine directors, importers) was so invigorating.

A trio of people made this happen. Ólafur Örn Ólafsson, based in Iceland (wine bar/restaurant owner par excellence), Tinna Óðinsdóttir, who though Icelandic now lives and works in Denmark and finally, the remarkable Alba Hough--sommelier now distiller--ultimately took the reigns of my welcome and the architecture of the event.  After a lunch and a great coffee, she and I headed to the city’s main drag, up the steps to Apero where host, ex-pat (Quebecois) Marie Odile Désy had Foillard by the glass. A prize in that city.

The conversation spanned from wine colonialism to natural wine agebility to the possibility of growing vines on the island. The problems? No light for so many months and then too much light. And what about their powerful winds? (Not so much I think though it can be brutal.) Some wild ideas came out, like planting on top of geothermal sources (me thinks not a great idea), or by the coast, or what about in pits, like in the Canary Islands? The wines we had were not Icelandic, and they were so delicious I was sure it was a flower day, but it was a leaf! Maybe it's backward in Iceland?

And joy! Hardly anyone posted on social media. We had an almost secret event except for me tripping up. How retro. How fabulous. Innocent times.

AND WHERE TO EAT?

Meanwhile, in NYC, have you been to Rake? It’s on the Lower East Side, on 1st Avenue and 3rd Street.

This is Jorge Arias’ place, owner of Urban Wines and Spirits, an unsung hero of New York City’s natural wine business.

Rake is an around-the-corner kind of wine bar that everyone needs in their backyard. Reasonable prices, and snacks of high quality. Drinkable, even interesting wines at under $13 a glass! Snacks! It’s very Euro, in the best way, like in some humble arrondissement.

Ah, so, in book promo: It’s Friday October 7th?

What are you doing tonight?

Please come to Harlem Wine Gallery! 7-9pm.

And in North Carolina, do mark the calendars for October 27rd for a casual event in Raleigh at The Parlor at The Heights House Hotel with Paula de Pano, it’s $55 and comes with a copy of the book. And on October 28th, I’ll be in conversation with the one and only Frank Bruni! 

Another important item to think about coming is the Fern (Food & Environment Reporting Network) fundraising event. October 24th. I'll be talking with editor-in-chief, Sam Fromartz, Garrett Oliver and Rowan Jacobsen about the effect of climate change on beer, wine and cider. 

Book news, seems like To Fall in Love, Drink This is in second printing already, have you bought your copy yet?

Had a terrific event in DC last week at Politics & Prose. Before I landed in Union Station, the wine shop Domestique ran a Q & A on me. Please get on their mailing list. Their newsletter is terrific, do sign up for it. While there I fell in love with Bold Fork Books (signed what seemed like 100 books!)  and Nido in Nido in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood. Had a knockout gigante bean dish at José Andres’ Zatynia. Podcast alert: I recently talked to More to say, but I’ll shut up.

But! do you have a wine shop/bookstore and want to see if we can arrange something? Reach out, I'm sure we can manage it.

For those of you who also found the Clos Roche Blanche wines meaningful, I am so sad to tell you that Catherine Roussel died this week. Such a formative domaine in the Loire, not just for me. I hung my last chapter of The Battle for Wine and Love on her warm and wonderful shoulders. I will be forever glad that I insisted on seeing her the last time I was in the Loire, now too long ago, but still. Rest in peace. 

Which on that sad note brings me to the present.  I’m playing catchup on the dining section of the newsletter. Next time more in-depth about Iceland and about the use of natural sulfur in winemaking. This week I’m telling you about a memorable restaurant I visited in Tbilisi. Got to tell you, the culinary scene over there is explosive. And of course, the wines.

The links are behind a pay wall, and if you’d like to subscribe—-PLEASE DO! If the fee is too high, drop me a line and we’ll work it out.

Until then, 

Alice

Marco’s osteria, Iotto, is 30 kilometers northwest of Rome (and about a 40-minute drive) in the town of Campagnano di Roma. But we were coming from Latera on the northern bank of Bolsena. After dark, it was two hours with traffic on roads with long shadows and darting animals. On the way, we tried to book a hotel right there so we could drink until three in the morning and roll into the hotel. Thwarted. Completely booked up. How? This was in the middle of a pandemic. Who the hell was hanging out 40-minutes out of Rome? How could Il Postiglione Antica Posta deil Chigi be all filled up? It was. Nothing to be done.

We drove through the remaining wall to the medieval city and parked near the inevitable fountain on the square. In a fine mood, we decided, what the hell, if we had to sleep in the car, so be it.

While nine should be bustling, the brightly lit osteria was near-empty, COVID-time’s effect. Diego said, “You’ll see, by the end of the night we’ll be having a party.”

We claimed the seats closest to the kitchen, then Diego said hi to Marco and got the keys to the wine cellar in the adjacent storefront. It had to have been a bar at one time, but now it was packed with bottles, some displayed in cubicles, shelves, the bar, and in half-opened boxes and a jumble everywhere. We side-stepped Lazio and chose a vermentino from Liguria.

Taking our eXtreme to our table, we immediately started to drink. Yes. Good. We liked. Textural, elegant. Looking around, at the white subway tile, the blonde chairs, wine bottles on the walls, there is nothing really charming about the place, nothing shouting out that there are natural wines on the menu or that much of the food is growing on Marco’s 26-hectare property nearby. The largest part is for grazing the sheep, the abbacchi (lambs) that they use in the tavern are almost always theirs. In the season, so are the vegetables. They have olive trees, of course, and another part of the property is for the cultivation of ancient grains, which are turned into flour for the restaurant.

Marco approached. He has the thoughtful and focused face of an introvert but changes immediately when he smiles. That’s when his charisma takes over. He took our order and apologized that he couldn’t put us up that night—he promised to make some calls while we surveyed the menu. Diego urged me to share the frito misto with him, and of course, we had to, the place was famous for it. Diego opted for the lamb. There were porcini al forno, 15 euro. Done. He also offered a trio of pepperoncini with different Scoville scale heat levels on the menu. I was tempted. But did not indulge my hot pepper fetish.

Marco opened the place in February 2005. A Roman, he studied philosophy in university but got into the food business. His love for cooking came from his mother, while his dad taught him how to drink. When he opened Iotto those skills were in his arsenal. He opened with natural wines on the menu, at a time when Parker’s influence was at its height, and few knew there was an alternative. He had tasted his first “natural” wine in 1997 and said he was immediately impressed.

I was trying to think what was even available then, for sure La Stoppa and then he added.  “There was Castello di Lispida, Emidio Pepe, Rinaldi, Gravner, Radikon, Chateau Musar, Damijan Podversic. I still have 2/3 bottles of his from 2005.  Camillo Donati, it’s also the first year of Giulio Armani with Denavolo. I still have the 2005 wine of him too… it seems to me also 2004.  Giovanna Tiezzi’s Pacina, Giovanna Morgante’s le Boncie.” In other words, he found traditional and sincere wines before the funny labels and overt marketing were the natural wine trend, when they were just the way wine used to be made for centuries.

And people didn’t get it, Marco later wrote me in an email, “At the beginning, it was very difficult, many customers loved to eat at my place, but they brought their own wine because they didn’t like natural wines. But now it’s different, the same customers who came at the beginning, now still come and drink only natural wines.”

Like the table of men next to us.

They spoke English, were definitely not wine people, but there they were drinking Bea, and Rabasco. And I was eyeing little rattails of three different kinds of peppers, the men had rejected them.

The misto converted me to fried stuff—this was yummy, crusty Roman food, so fresh and wholesome the vegetables snapped with flavor. The meaty porcini melted as they should. The greens were bitter, perfect. The potatoes, deeply flavored.

Why did I not order a pasta or other food? This is an excellent question. Or at least those hot peppers. Somewhere near the end, true to form Marco came over. Apologetic, he told us there was no room nearby to be had. The Best Western some distance away, was our best bet.

Whatever, we had food and wine and conversation, who needed a bed? Sitting between us and the English speakers, Marco further regaled us with stories about a favorite customer, Willem Dafoe, whom he said often orders Le Coste, La Stoppa, Tenuta Grillo, Ronco de Carpeneto, and then somehow he managed to link our conversation to the quartet of guys next to us, with their combination or Italian, Swedish and New Jersey-style English. I cannot remember what kicked off the conversation, wine I suppose, and then I asked about the peppers.

They pushed the plate towards me. Challenge taken!

I took a bite of the first. It had a touch of high-toned sweet mixed with a bite. The second had a layered complexity with a sharp vein of heat. The guy nearest to me smirked. “Go ahead,” he said as I eyed the third.

The pepper’s warmth filled my mouth and nose, I waited for some sort of unbearable heat. I smiled, my eyes did not water. “Delicious.”

I had my macha moment. Those guys who might have had one of the best meals of their life were in awe of me for my ability to take the heat. Turns out they worked for Pagani, and they were in this tiny town to watch the test-driving cars for their luxe autos, “You’re the reason we have to sleep on the side of the road?” I asked, a little peeved, but who could complain. Not me.

By two in the morning all of us had finished several more bottles, many from Diego’s private stash, we were amazingly fed and filled with conversation,  soon on the road for 45 minutes hoping that Best Western at the side of the highway would have rooms for us.

So, should you go out of your way for Iotto? Maybe you’re coming from Bolsena like we were. Yes. Maybe you want a night away from Rome, get a room and drink and eat your night away with a group of friends. That’s the best, no? Maybe you’ll get a taste of a real osteria, whereas Marco said is about the “human relationships, and social exchanges. When I see customers talking to the neighboring table even if they do not know each other, exchanging wine, opinions on food, or face other speeches, of any kind: art, sport, politics, philosophy, etc …, see people smile and satisfied, be able to give two hours of happiness and why not even “reflection” to people, when this happens, I know that the purpose and function of my tavern is achieved.” The odd thing is, I don’t think this could ever be achieved unless the food and the drink is as beautiful quality as it is at Iotto. So, this spot is sure worth the detour. It’s a gem of the country so close to the city. If you do go, ask Marco what it was like to champion natural wine before anyone in Italy knew what it was. Ask him to pull out one of those older wines. And while drinking and talking to your neighbors, go ahead, and ponder the real purpose of an osteria.

Osteria Iotto
Corso Vittorio Emanuele
96, 00063 Campagnano di Roma RM, Italy
+39 06 904 1746