Taking the first step out of the taxi and immediately entering the tiny, hole-in-a-wall establishment, I felt transported back to when I was a mere five years old, experiencing true Italian food for the first time – within a similar, hole-in-the-wall restaurant in my hometown. Everything from the color of the walls to the attire of the waiters, even the minute decor adorning the rooms – all of it reflected the ristorante of my childhood which introduced me to some of my favorite foods.
Known as The Red Pepper, the restaurant sat on Main Street and resided in the walls of an old house, tiny and cramped but oh-so homey and always infused with the most wonderful smells of pasta, meat, and cheeses. I vividly dream to this day of my evolution simply through the cuisine of that authentic restaurant – starting with the days of simple butter pasta and ending with my final meal there just a mere few weeks ago in the best and most explosive spaghetti and meatballs I’ve ever tasted – all while sneaking bites from my mother’s seafood bianco.
All of those memories followed me as I wandered inside Antico Bottaio, ripe and fit to bursting with the same homey and familiar atmosphere of The Red Pepper, a sensation I thought I’d never experience again, considering the restaurant closed permanently about a month before I left to study in the homeland of its roots.
A sense of community filled me when I arrived, late to the reservation, yet welcomed and room was made for me to join in – a menu thrust my way and I was quickly indoctrinated into the flow of the meal. And all too suddenly I was inundated with scents and sights of aperitifs and antipasti as they were delivered and shared around the table. And the hours passed like heartbeats as eventually our main courses were dished out – I myself received cacio e pepe, a simple pasta dish that I’ve always described as an authentically bare bones alfredo sauce.
I’m not exaggerating when I say the experience was religious, and perhaps the most rich and extravagant dish I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. The noodles were a nest of snakes on my plate, richly coated by the perfectly thick sauce of butter, cheese, and pepper. I myself have made cacio e pepe at home, and while it tasted good – my sauce was always too thin. At Antico Bottaio, the sauce was indescribably divine, perfect in texture but also in the choiceful balance of cheeses which blurred together with the bold earthiness of toasted pepper.
Everyone around me seemed to be having similar experiences with their own meals – whether they be risotto, steak, pasta, or some combination of other Italian traditions. The infusement of great conversation and our inevitable collective tipsiness (off alcohol, sure, but also from sleep deprivation) only made the pasta before me all the better.
Not to mention how unreal the dessert was.
I myself chose two – cheesecake and tiramisu. Personally, while I do adore tiramisu at home, I was a tad worried about it in Italy because I am decidedly not a coffee person. So I inevitably went the safer route of ordering both – and thank goodness I did, because both were absolutely as divine as my main course.
The cheesecake was incredibly interesting, not the least because of it being served warm rather than the cold plating I’ve always had at home. The strawberries laid atop it were perhaps the freshest and most natural-tasting I have ever put into my mouth, and went exquisitely with the creaminess of the cheesecake itself. I’m not sure exactly how Italian cheesecake is made, as it was much lighter and airy than any my mother has ever made. There was a bit more cheese-ness to the flavor, but not in a necessarily bad way – it was distinct and wonderfully complimentary to the strawberries.
Somehow even better was the tiramisu. Melting in my mouth, the layers of ladyfingers and mascarpone were the perfect blend of bitter and sweet – and as at the start of the meal, I was transported back to those childhood days being treated to The Red Pepper. I was severely close to having tears flow down my face, solely due to how intensely the memories crept up on me. The tiramisu at Antico Bottaio was like an international clone of the tiramisu I grew up cherishing, and the realization that I would never taste it again back in the States just overwhelmed me at that moment. I truly savored the entirety of that meal – from start to finish – and I truly have not had a better culinary experience I think in my life thus far.
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