A candlelit trattoria where the day’s first-press oil meets late-night Negronis. Hand-cut pasta, coastal fish, and a cellar that keeps Roman hours.
Tap any plate to read it. Add to your order, or save it for the table — reservations are open all evening.
Creamy Puglian burrata over sun-blistered datterini tomatoes, torn basil and first-press olive oil.
Rosy slow-cooked veal under a silky tuna-caper cream, finished with fried capers.
Hand-cut egg tagliatelle tangled with shaved black truffle and aged Parmigiano.
Tonnarelli emulsified in Pecorino Romano and cracked black pepper. Nothing else.
Carnaroli risotto stained with Sardinian saffron, crowned with roasted bone marrow.
Whole Mediterranean sea bass baked in a salt crust, opened tableside with lemon and oregano oil.
Veal shank braised until it slips from the bone, saffron jus, a bright gremolata.
Layered eggplant, San Marzano, fior di latte and basil, baked till bubbling.
House tiramisu, espresso-soaked savoiardi folded through Marsala mascarpone.
Fior di latte gelato drowned in a shot of hot espresso. Served the moment it melts.
Our cellar runs on Roman hours. This season we’re pouring volcanic whites from Etna, structured Sangiovese from the hills, and a chilled Cerasuolo that drinks like a sunset. Every bottle is chosen to follow a plate.
Ask for the seasonal pairing and we’ll walk your table from first oil to last amaro.
A 22-seat back room with its own cellar door, for rehearsal dinners, tastings, and long lunches that turn into long nights. Tell us the date and we’ll build the menu around it.
Come for golden-hour aperitivo, stay for handmade pasta after dark. We are tucked beside the old harbour lights, close enough to hear the water.
Order a few plates from the menu, then come back here to watch it land on the kitchen tablet — and move it along yourself.