Venice in winter exudes a timeless quality. Walking the narrow streets, I find myself thinking, can this really be the year 2000? For here—where the sound of water lapping against palazzi is as it always was, where mists shroud the canals and narrow streets as they always have—it could be 1700, or even 1500. The very stillness evokes agelessness: Richard Wagner spent some of his winters here because he believed that only in the city’s silence could he hear music. Winter is the only time of year when la Serenissima is, indeed, serene. Aside from the week between Christmas and New Year’s—and the week of the annual Carnevale (this year, from February 26 to March 7), when mayhem erupts—life is tranquil, just as the citizens like it. And it is only now that you will find restaurants, cafés, and wine bars filled with Venetians. The rest of the year, they retreat into their homes, taking refuge from the tourist stampede, so the fair-weather visitor misses a crucial element of life in Venice: To be in Venice without Venetians is to know the city’s stones but not its soul.
Venetians are heirs to the legacy of the 15th-century republic of Venice: its musical language, its sense of fun, its fierce love of both self and the inimitable cucina of the region. In winter its classic dishes are prepared with the greatest of care and, more important, foods appear that are never seen on a menu turistico. You might even come across a gondolier, dining out with his family, singing not for money but for the pure love of singing.
True Venetians eat all day. A cappuccino and a sweet bun in the morning tide them over until just before noon, when they might take a glass of wine and cicchetti (snacks of fish, meat, or vegetables). By late afternoon, when the last of the winter light has waned, they’re back to the wine bar for a glass of Prosecco and another little snack. Then there’s supper at nine and later, somewhere between eleven and midnight, a coffee or a grappa with friends. How do most Venetians stay so trim and fit despite all this? They walk everywhere.
I have been a regular visitor to Venice since 1973, and when I want to eat out, I go where the locals go. But my first stop is always at a personal favorite, Pasticceria Dal Mas. Although it’s on a very touristy street, not far from the train station, it remains authentically Venetian. My order is invariably an espresso and an Arlecchino (as in Harlequin, the Commedia dell’Arte character), a wedge of cake with layers of chocolate, white pastry cream, golden cake, beige nut cream, more chocolate, and so on. It puts me in a Venetian mood.
Later on, la dolce via continues at Pasticceria Didovich, where, standing, I have a light lunch of the house specialty: a palm-size vegetable quiche. To my mind, two or three of these with a glass of Prosecco make a perfect meal. (And if the quiche with red radicchio is on the menu when you visit, do not fail to order it!) Then I treat myself to strudel, Sachertorte, linzertorte, or little pastries filled with jam or sweet cheese—the sort of pastry that might seem more at home in Vienna or Budapest (not so surprising when you remember that in the 19th century Venice was under Hapsburg rule for almost 70 years).
Another holdover from the Austrian occupation is the Venetian love of panna montata (fresh whipped cream). You will find it all over town, but I go to Hostaria da Zorzi, near Piazza San Marco. To my mind, an incomparable seasonal sight is the short, stout, fur-swathed Venetian ladies standing at the bar with a platter of whipped cream in front of them. Each diminutive matron is given two ice-cream cones with which to gather up as much cream as possible. I’ve yet to learn how they manage so efficiently—I always manage to get more cream on my nose than in my mouth.
At Ponte delle Paste, you can get a cup of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream and, in winter only, frittelle veneziane (fritters filled with either pastry cream or zabaglione). You will see frittelle all over town, but few are this good. Nearby is Pasticceria Colussi, an austere little bakery offering classic Venetian dry cookies such as bussolai, baicoli, and zaletti; frittelle, of course; and also little cakes. Here the focaccia (or fugassa, as it’s known locally) is not the usual Italian bread of flour, salt, and oil but a sweet, eggy, lemony cake, cousin to the Milanese panettone, without the candied fruit.
Finding wonderful food in Venice is more difficult than locating lovely pastries. The overwhelming onslaught of tourists over the past 15 years has turned gastronomic Venice into a tired old courtesan who mindlessly dispenses her favors with barely the suggestion that pleasure could be part of the transaction. The absolute low end of this unfortunate phenomenon is, of course, the ubiquitous menu turistico—spaghetti with canned clams followed by a greasy fry-up of scraps of seafood. Avoid it at all costs.
The scandalous high end, on the other hand, is found at Harry’s Bar. Here the downstairs room is convivial and full of regulars, but tourists are relegated to a drab upstairs room where the walls are covered with puckered fabric and only the most perfunctory regard for either the food or the diner. After my Bellini (where—the question still niggles—did they find fresh peach juice in winter?), I ordered spider crab, which came with too much shell carelessly left in, followed by an only so-so house risotto and parched sea bass fillets with greasy artichokes, then a piece of dull apple pie. With my meal I had a mineral water, a very ordinary white wine, and a cup of coffee. For this “classic” Venetian experience I paid an outrageous 352,400 Italian lire (about $200).
Sadly, many visitors to Venice think that they are in the know if they dine at Harry’s Bar, Osteria da Fiore, al Covo, Trattoria alla Madonna, or Fiaschetteria Toscana. Osteria da Fiore collapsed under the weight of an article in the International Herald Tribune in 1994 that called it the best restaurant in Italy. An attractive, though noisy, place with warm and careful service, da Fiore has always produced perfectly nice food, including its famous baked scallops with fresh thyme. But the kitchen has too many misses, owing to careless preparation. It makes a laudable effort to achieve delicate cooking, but dishes can wind up being flavorless.
Al Covo has acquired an almost entirely American following, many of whom are directed there by the concierges of the Cipriani, Danieli, and Gritti Palace hotels. You will certainly enjoy good seafood, prepared by Cesare Benelli, whose Texan wife, Diane, supplies not only a cheery welcome but American desserts, too. The problem here, from my point of view, is that al Covo has become such a safe bet for visitors that it is now really an American-style restaurant that happens to serve Venetian dishes.
About Trattoria alla Madonna, near the Rialto bridge, people say, “I eat here because there is nowhere else good left in Venice.” The food is certainly decent, but nothing special. Fiaschetteria Toscana, on the other hand, is a very good choice. The food is all Venetian, and among the clas>sics are pasta e fagioli with a creamy base of cranberry beans; scallops with almonds served as an appetizer in a tiny ramekin; seppioline con piselli (tender cuttlefish with peas and yellow polenta; and fegato alla veneziana (thin slices of calf’s liver deftly sautéed with onions to the perfect degree of doneness). Fiaschetteria is justifiably proud of its frittura della Serenissima, a large plate of delicately battered and fried seafood and vegetables. This is the one restaurant with a large tourist clientele that is also frequented by Venetians, and the service is welcoming to newcomers, never condescending.
At Fiaschetteria, as at other restaurants where Venetians dine, you want to look for the special repertoire of winter foods. Foremost are schie (pronounced skee-ay), tiny shrimp boiled or fried and served on a small cushion of soft polenta. In some months you will find moleche (soft-shelled crabs). Also in abundance now are artichoke bottoms, typically sautéed in a little olive oil. In the Rialto market you will see vendors carefully remove the bottoms from the artichokes and soak them in cold water with lemon juice to keep them from turning brown.
Fritters and carnival pastries are everywhere, and wines of the most recent vintage are just making an appearance in town. American visitors tend to order a carafe of house wine when dining out, but for just a little more money it’s possible to get an excellent local bottle.
Ristorante Riviera threatens to become the next restaurant for those supposedly in the know. Near both the cruise-ship terminal and the city’s only real supermarket, Riviera has a following among the movie stars who come for the September film festival. The food here may be delicious, but little else is right about the place. It is so cramped that the one overworked waiter has to bone the fish on top of a fax machine, and the 30 tables are set so close together that cigarette smoke from anywhere in the room can overwhelm the food you are eating. The owner does not bother to recite specials for visitors, so they must order off the menu whether or not they understand Italian. And the minuscule wine list offers nothing that really complements the (admittedly excellent) risottos, pasta, and seafood.
Other restaurants have given me much more pleasure and, better yet, genuine Venetian company. Hostaria da Franz, near the Giardini della Biennale, is a modest-looking establishment with great food. Here Franco Gasparini, a large man with whiskers, cooks; his son runs the restaurant, occasionally with the help of Franco’s daughter-in-law; and at times two grandchildren play charmingly underfoot. I order my favorite, sarde in saor (sweet-and-sour sardines), a Venetian classic. And I urge you not to miss the moscardini al Prosecco (baby octopus cooked in sparkling wine—a masterpiece of flavor and texture) or the exquisite baccalà mantecato (salt cod whipped with olive oil to a creamy froth).
At Antiche Carampane the home-style Venetian cooking is not fancy, but it is good. And you have to love a place with a sign in the doorway stating, “No pizza, no lasagne, no menu turistico.” One of the dishes I love is spaghetti con lo scorfano, with a sauce made from local fish. Another specialty of the house is the homemade traditional Venetian desserts (for which the owner refuses to reveal the recipes; they have been handed down through generations). Antica Locanda Montin, near the Gallerie dell’Accademia, has long been favored by artistic types like Ezra Pound and painter Arbit Blatas and his wife, opera star Regina Resnik, who made Venice their home. Here the food is reliable and the setting cozy. Antica Locanda Montin is famous for its beautiful enclosed garden in the back—unusual for a Venetian restaurant. Try the spaghetti con nero di seppia (with cuttlefish ink) and coda di rospo (monkfish). At Trattoria da Ignazio—a typically friendly Venetian restaurant—the starring dishes are scampi fritti (like delicate “Cajun popcorn”) and grilled fish such as sole (ask to have it without added salt). At all costs, skip the baby octopus with balsamic vinegar.
If I could have just one restaurant meal in Venice, it would be at Ristorante da Ivo, where the room is romantic and the food is delicious, including the schie and great fish fillets cooked with vegetables. Here you will enjoy the best risottos in Venice. A friend who had just finished da Ivo’s risotto with cuttlefish ink told me, “My teeth may turn black, but I wouldn’t trade this for pearls in my mouth.”
Truth be told, I do most of my eating as the locals do—in the many osterie and bàcari all over the city. In most, the clientele is strictly Venetian and the food caters to their demanding taste. There are two such places that call themselves osteria, but they are, in reality, much more than the word suggests. At the tiny Osteria alle Testiere, the menu changes daily according to what the sea provides. Shellfish is always a good choice, particularly the caparozzoli allo zenzero (clams ennobled by gratings of fresh ginger). Look for a splendid grilled soaso (tiny Adriatic turbot taken from the lagoons near Venice). All this, and a superb wine list, too. Osteria La Zucca is a paradise for vegetarians, though meat is also plentiful. Here you can enjoy the gentle service and intelligent wine list in the attractive dining room with conversation-friendly acoustics and a no-smoking section. Two special dishes are the pumpkin flan and the carrots with yogurt and curry.
It is common in Venice to go from one wine bar to the next, ordering a dish or two at each place plus a glass of wine to match. The Veneto produces some very fine wines, and the neighboring province of Friuli-Venezia Giulia is one of Italy’s top three wine producers, responsible for the nation’s best whites. I would start at Osteria Bentigodi da Andrea, near the old Jewish quarter. Everything here (but the pasta) is delicious. On one visit I ordered a glass of Müller-Thurgau with my endive, Pecorino, and walnut salad, and the medley of flavors was positively stereophonic. At Bentigodi I make an exception to my rule of having only fresh fruit for dessert. For it’s impossible to resist the salame di cioccolato (chocolate “salami”—a slightly crumbly roll with pine nuts). And, unlike most Venetian osterie, which are cramped and rustic, this one is light and airy.
Nearby is the Trattoria Ca’ d’Oro, also called Osteria dalla Vedova, one of the most reliable in Venice. Starring dishes include baccalà mantecato and polpette (cold veal meatballs served with a vibrant tomato sauce and perfect vegetables). The soups, pastas, and accompanying wines are all really good, too. Then go to Osteria alla Bomba. You can tell you’ve found it by the peals of laughter from men engaged in hearty discussion while feasting on superb salami from Treviso, local cheeses, vegetables, and grilled and fried fish. The pasta e fagioli is one of the best.
At Osteria ai Assassini, near San Marco, the pasta is mediocre but the soups are delicious. Fish dishes are thoughtfully cooked and presented: Cappe sante al pomodoro, when available, are made with crushed tomato and herbs and baked in the shell—the most perfectly cooked scallop dish I’ve had in Venice. And the welcome is warm and genuine. Nearby, in a little cul-de-sac off the Frezzeria, is Osteria da Carla. If you arrive around eleven in the morning, you can make the first selection from gorgeous fish and vegetable preparations. There is arguably no better lunch in town.
When darkness begins to envelop the city at around 4 p.m.,I head for Cantinone già Schiavi, near Locanda Montin. Herethe mamma makes wonderful baccalà mantecato, plus open-faced sandwiches of caviar, sardines, tuna, vegetables, cheeses, salamis, or ham, while the papà and the figli pour wine from one of the best selections in all of Venice. (You can buy bottles to take home.) A local woman told me that she loves to come here and eat the sandwiches and have a glass of wine with her neighbors. “At home,” she said, “I would be all alone with a bowl of pasta.” This is indeed the most cheerful place I know, and genuinely Venetian. Nowhere feels warmer on a wintry evening.
At the close of day, I often find my way to the Piazza San Marco, a spot I avoid in other seasons. From a seat at the Gran Caffè Ristorante Quadri or the Caffè Florian, over espresso or hot chocolate, I admire the piazza’s grand form, its sense of being an outdoor drawing room. Sometimes I will walk to the center of the square and stand completely still to absorb the silence of the centuries, breathe in the mist, and draw in my memories of another uniquely Venetian day.