There are restaurants and then there are Restaurants, a food sanctuary that says Home, and from that very first bite convinces you to drop everything in your life just for an opportunity to bus tables so that you can hang out in the kitchen. This is the kind of place that you keep secret for as long possible, making friends vow to never reveal any details and praying to yourself that you never mention the name in your sleep. But I think it’s time I let you in on my little secret since Italian food writers have been scribbling up a storm about it – – Trippa, Milan’s other Last Supper.
I walked into Trippa ,thanks to my friend Sara Porro, Milan’s intrepid food and travel writer. Familiar, nostalgic and beckoning, Trippa is designed like an old school trattoria, a single and clamorous room of vintage-inspired wooden tables and chairs, with authentic vintage lamps, fans, and posters. The room is enveloped in a gorgeous mustard or “Milan tram yellow”, color, and the vibe is up. Everyone knows everyone else, and are constantly playing table hopscotch, while owner and chef Diego Rossi holds the floor both conceptually and gastronomically.
Inspite of its offal-inducing name, Trippa is a celebration of delicious vegetables. Diego bombarded us with crunchy white turnips (were they slightly breaded?), grilled raddichio with roe, a leek panella, fried artichoke and a trio platter where all I remember is the broccolo. And that was just the beginning. We continued with a fabulous fassona tartar, a valorous vitello tonnato (perhaps the very best I have ever had), and a perfect grilled polpo. It was almost as if I needed nothing more until the bone was brought out.
Beatific. Gastro-terrific. Mind-blowing, belly showing. A half-bone beat with a salty treat. Bone marrow, I’m yours.I could write sonnets to this salty masterpiece that we spread over warm bread. Life Imitates Art and Trippa was the masterpiece.