Marcel W.
Google
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
There are those rare Sundays in November when the fog hangs low over a sleeping village — the kind of place that seems to wait patiently for the next summer of tourists. The streets are empty, the shutters closed, and you wonder if anyone still lives here. Then you open the door of this little restaurant, and it’s full. You have no idea where all these people have come from — but within minutes, you understand.
The first bite of pasta, perfectly al dente, glistening with olive oil and a snowfall of freshly grated Parmigiano — so finely grated it curls like tiny angel hairs — explains everything. It’s comfort, craft, and quiet perfection on a foggy Sunday noon.
A hidden gem that doesn’t try to impress — it simply is. Five stars, without hesitation.
