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l’Osteria dell’ Anima, Italian Resto

From the tiny painted door way, to the tiny hall-like dining room, to the beautiful and charming Italian waitresses, to the handsome bearded chef peeking over the kitchen counter, to the warm yellow walls speckled with maps of the mother country, and to all the hearty, creamy, meaty pasta in between…I’m simply besotted with this place! Needless to say I eat here a lot.

painted doorway at l’Osteria dell’Anima

Last night I came here for dinner. As a little warm up, my table of four ordered the burrata. We were shocked when a hunk of cheese the size of a gorilla’s fist came out. What a testament to the amazing versatility of milk and cream! It had the consistency of a perfect soft-boiled egg, firm on the outside and just barely oozy on the inside. I was loathe to share it with my table so its for the best I was with my boyfriend and his parents and I felt compelled to show some civilized restraint, otherwise I wouldn’t have had room for my main course!

Enormous glob of burrata, grilled zuchini and eggplant, salami, artichoke hearts, and shaved fennel

I never understand our waitress when she explains the plat du jour, but I always order it. Why? Well if you’ve ever heard French delivered with Italian melody, enthusiasm, and gesticulation, you know. When the waitress speaks, my mind wanders and I indulge in noble dreams of one day living and eating in Tuscany. If a mere description of a dish can make me feel that transcendent, I have no other choice but to order it.

Last night’s plat du jour was a pappardelle in creamy pesto with sausage. Every element of this dish bursted with flavor, as if I could taste each ingredient individually: the eggs in the pasta, the spices in the sausage, the butter and cream and parmesan in the sauce.

Pappardelle in creamy pesto with sausage

When not savoring the food, wine, or conversation, I would watch the waitresses roll and slice the pasta in between taking orders and serving tables. Their movements are always so fluid: knead, roll, chop, whisk off to the kitchen. Something about seeing it two feet in front of me as dough and eating it 5 minutes later as a hot cooked meal is so satisfying. So much so, that I don’t really see the point in doing it myself when I can go here and have someone else do it for me for my viewing and eating pleasure.

For practical info, please refer to my Paris page.


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