After over three months of anticipation, our night at Osteria Francescana finally became a reality. As a quick refresher, back in February I scored reservations for Erin and I at 2016’s and 2018’s World’s Best Restaurant, Chef Massimo Bottura’s Osteria Francesca in Modena. Those who know me well enough know that I’m kind of weird about food. For many years, I was the pickiest eater of any adult I knew (until by chance I met a friend even pickier than myself). I’ve been slowly working on branching out a bit over the past decade or so, but am a bit of an unlikely foodie. Italian food is right in my wheelhouse though, as much as any cuisine. When we learned last year that the so-called World’s Best Restaurant was in Italy — in an area we’d been mulling a visit to, no less — I made it my mission to get us a table. After all, a big part of our adventure abroad for me was partaking in new experiences.
Mercifully, our reservation happened to overlap with a time when Erin’s dad and his partner were already thinking of coming out, which meant we had childcare that would allow us an overnight trip to Modena. More importantly, it meant not having to tote along our 5-year-old to an extremely spendy restaurant. We’d planned to just load her up on pasta from somewhere cheap just before and then order “her” some dishes Erin and I had wanted at Francescana. In retrospect, that would’ve been awkward since there’s a whole crew of waitstaff just kind of hovering around at all times, and it would’ve been pretty obvious what we were doing. But seriously, I wasn’t planning on buying her a starter that costs more than our whole meal would cost most nights.
We caught a train to nearby Bologna, where we wandered town for an hour or so and grabbed a tasty lunch. I ordered gnocchi bolognese, because I felt compelled to order bolognese in Bologna — it’s their most well-known regional speciality, after all — but was honestly not blown away, probably partly because I just don’t really love bolognese sauce to begin with. The rest of the meal was fantastic though. The spinach with butter and parmesan was simple, but very likely the best spinach I’ve ever had. There was also an antipasto of a sort of fried pocket bread, accompanied by some kind of spreadable cheese that I sadly neglected to take the name of. It was textured, fluffy, and delightful and I wish I could have that to start every meal. We’d have liked a little more time to spend in Bologna, but we had a reservation to make, so we hoofed it back to the train station and pulled into Modena 30 minutes later.
Our hotel had called that morning to inform us that a plumbing leak had made our room uninhabitable, but they’d relocate us to a better room in another one of their properties, which happened to be literally a half block from Osteria Francescana. No complaints there. We got to watch the shockingly large kitchen staff gather in the street to the side of the restaurant (i.e., our street) and relax for a few moments before it was time to get their game faces on. Erin took an hour to rest while I wandered Modena a bit. It’s small, but cute, and would’ve liked a full day if time had allowed.
It wasn’t long before 8pm rolled around. Running a couple minutes late, we made our way to Francescana’s largely nondescript front entrance and found its solid gray door locked. An immediate panic swept over me — were they shutting us out because we were two minutes late? I noticed a doorbell and rang it. Moments later, the door slowly opened to reveal the host and his team welcoming us into a parlor, where they took our coats and guided us into a dining room. Our experience had begun.
Our table was one of five in our dining room. I believe there must have been another small dining room that we must have missed, as my understanding is they have 12 tables in all. One of the things we noticed promptly was that the number of people working compared to diners was beyond anywhere we’d dined previously. Granted, we’d never partaken in ultra-high-end dining before, so perhaps that’s not so unusual for the circumstances. Either way, I counted no fewer than 15 back-of-house staff hanging out in the street before service, and I believe there were no less than 6 people working the front of the house and our dining room, including numerous waiters, a sommelier, and one guy who I think was dedicated to just keeping our water glasses full (spoiler alert: he was very good at it). I looked it up later, and at least at some point, they had a staff of 30, so likely a nearly 1:1 staff-to-diner ratio.
My original plan was to just get a few items off the a la carte menu. Kind of boring, I know, but the picky eater in me was wary of submitting myself to a 12-course tasting menu which I had no control over. Plus, the website stipulated you could only order the tasting menu if the entire table did as well, and since Erin’s a pescatarian, I figured that simplified that decision. I called ahead to let them know one of us was a pescatarian though, and they told me that she could have a modified tasting menu to accommodate her dietary restrictions. After grappling with it until the last moment, I decided to surrender myself to the tasting menu gods and hoped they’d be gentle.
Our meal began with a small plate of bread. It was a simple, rustic bread with bits of olive baked in. Nothing fancy, but it was as perfect as a basic bread can be: a thin layer of crispy crust, and soft fluffiness inside.
Next came the first of two amuse-bouche rounds. Round one was a unusual spin on fish and chips: a quenelle of fish gelato served on a potato crisp. Sounds weird, but tasted better than it sounds.
Shortly after came a plate of four little treats to sample. On the more pedestrian side, a Parmigiano and lard crisp, and a savory tomato macaron. On the other side were the more notable offerings; one, a foie gras “lollipop” injected with 30-year-aged balsamic vinegar and coated in toasted almonds. I’d never had foie gras before, and had read a decidedly not stellar review of that item in a write-up of the Francescana. Knowing the dubious nature of foie gras, I probably wouldn’t order it again, but I did enjoy it. The other more interesting part was a strange little item designed to look like an anchovy fillet. The “skin” in reality was a thin wafer dusted with two tones of silvery powder to create the illusion of fish skin. Between the wafers was a filling that tasted of anchovy, playing a weird-yet-satisfying trick of the brain.
With hors d’oeuvres behind us, the first listed menu item, “Grilled Hamachi in Abstract,” was up. A fresh slice of raw hamachi came out, surrounded by mozzarella granita and garnished with burnt lemon. It was refreshing and unexpected.
In between dishes, they brought out a second course of breads: a basket of various rolls, and a huge bundle of thin, crunchy breadsticks. The rolls were good, though nothing that sticks out in memory. The breadsticks though, were a perfect companion with the tasting menu. They were as good as any other crunchy breadsticks I’ve had, but what was great about them is they gave you something tasty and palate-cleansing, but insubstantial to nibble on between plates.
“Autumn in New York as a Journey of the Eel” was next. Not having been entirely sure what to expect with a name like that, we were very happlily surprised with the complex plate were we presented. A cooked cut of fish with a bit of caviar, crispy rice chips, and more tiny flavor nuggets were brought out, all served in a hot apple dashi.
“Spaghettini Between the Gulf of Naples and Hokkaido” was a much simpler dish; barely warmed spaghettini in a light uni sauce, and a big chunk of raw scampi (langoustine) on top. I would later learn that I’m likely mildly allergic to raw crustaceans, but thankfully not so much that it affected my enjoyment of the meal.
With dish names like those above, you can’t help but wonder if Bottura takes himself TOO seriously for his own good. Then out comes a dish with a name like, “We Are Still Deciding Which Fish to Serve!,” and it becomes apparent that Bottura has a sense of humor too. As it happens, they decided to serve turbot, and it was so damned tasty. Though it wasn’t the most exciting dish conceptually, the flavor was perfect. The turbot had been somehow infused with the flavor of a diver scallop, and coated in crispy breadcrumbs, served alongside a “caviar” made of some other kind of fish roe and a sauce of crème fraîche and squid ink.
Next up was “Wagyu Not Wagyu,” a pork dish meant to be a fusion of sorts between Italian and Japanese cuisine. Honestly, this was one of the less impressive dishes to me. I believe the taste was enjoyable, but I’ve already kind of forgotten what that taste was. Just not a standout in the company of so many other amazing dishes.
Following that up was “When My Mom Met Bocuse,” sort of a fancy pot pie. I didn’t love this one either, in no small part due to the fact that cooked snails and mushrooms just aren’t my thing. The taste was fine, but this one definitely pushed my picky eater boundaries the furthest.
“Five Ages of Parmigiano Reggiano, in Different Textures and Temperatures” had been hyped up as one of Bottura’s signature dishes, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why. Parmigiano Reggiano is not a tough sell for me to begin with, but it was mind-blowing to see what is capable with a single ingredient. It was hard to imagine how such a thing could avoid being too one-note, but it really works. Lining the bottom of the deep dish was a warm, rich, velvety Parmigiano cream. Forming the body of sorts were a Parmigiano “foam” and a Parmigiano soufflé, the “foam” being more dense than I’d imagined. Slashed through the middle was a crispy Parmigiano galette that gave the dish a welcomed texture. Finally, atop it all was a dollop of Parmigiano “air,” a chilled cloud that looked Parmigiano seafoam. Each form tasted distinct, and each of the temperatures and textures complemented each other wonderfully. It was like a multiverse of Parmigiano collapsing upon itself with delicious results.
Next up was a trio of dishes built around guinea hen. All very good, to be sure, though in a tough spot to stand out following the previous act. What did leave a lasting impression was when I mishandled my fork and knife, and a thumb-sized chunk of guinea hen went flying off my plate and into the wall. I don’t think any of the staff saw at first, but someone eventually came and calmly collected the tasty tidbit without so much as acknowledging it. My sophistication astounds even myself sometimes.
The last of the more visually impressive plates was another of Bottura’s signatures, “Oops! I Dropped the Lemon Tart.” It was the tastiest lemon tart I’ve had — sweet, fresh, and very lemony. The presentation is what really defines it though; a full lemon tart meticulously broken apart to recreate the appearance of a fallen lemon tart, complete with custom “shattered” plates.
Round two for dessert was “Tribute to Amalfi,” a spongy cake covered in a flavorful strawberry reduction, with a couple basil leaves, a bit of buffalo ricotta, and a few tiny slices of tomato. I wasn’t really sure what to think of tomatoes in a dessert, but American and Italian tomatoes were not created equally. The sweetness and splash of acidity pairs up seamlessly with the strawberry, and it all worked surprisingly well.
To close out the meal, a course of petit fours made their way to our table. On one plate, four tiny madeleines. I love madeleines, and these were great, though they felt a bit pedestrian given the mad science we’d been privy to all night. On the other plate were three little chocolatey bites for each of us. Good, though again, just not as exciting as what all we’d just experienced.
When all was said and done, three hours had elapsed and I had tasted 25 different items (including the different kinds of breads, amuse-bouches, petit fours, and one of Erin’s vegetarian dishes). The crazy thing is, after all those courses, I left feeling full, but not uncomfortably so. I’m sure this is intentional, as it doesn’t really enhance the experience if you’re force feeding yourself the last few items, but just kind of illustrated how it’s all planned so meticulously.
I never thought I could write so much about a single meal. It’s hard to know what to make of something like a restaurant being hyped as the World’s Best Restaurant; food is so subjective, and I’ve done such little dining of that sort to compare to. What I can say is that it was, without hesitation, both the best and most memorable meal I’ve had the pleasure of consuming. Everything was delicious and the plating was impeccable, but more than that, it was how comprehensively and thoughtfully the whole experience was put together that made it so unforgettable. I’ll be daydreaming about the possibilities of Parmigiano for a lifetime.
When we awoke the following morning, we had one more small mission to complete. Though we’d liked to have toured the town more (we legitimately spent more time eating dinner than we did exploring the rest of Modena), we couldn’t leave without sampling some of the balsamic vinegar the town is famous for. We found a well-regarded vinegar shop en route to the train station and stopped in to test out the wares. Aside from some interesting takes on balsamic (we had to bring home some balsamic pearls to experiment with in the kitchen), they just had some amazing product. There were small bottles of balsamic that easily rose well into the hundreds, but we still found some exquisite tasting stuff for a much more forgiving price. Mission accomplished.
Modena, I hardly got to know you, and yet I’ll surely never forget you. Thanks for the good eats.
