My night with Luigi
Written by Isobel Salamon
7:30pm on a breezy September evening in Conegliano, mosquitoes viciously destroy my legs. Thirty minutes have passed since Luigi said he'd pick me up and there's no one around. I don't have his number; so I wait, tired, impossibly itchy, and digestively strained from three days of dining overload. Just hours earlier, it became clear my two fellow press trip companions were going home. Their past few days' reference to "our last day" was true for them. I'd presumed their minds were elsewhere, but at breakfast, when speaking to the day ahead, I realised... I was continuing on for a final visit and formal dinner... solo. The PR team were also leaving. Despite mixed emotions, our day proceeded in a blur—a vineyard visit, tour and tasting lunch, where I was happily introduced to Frico—a Friulian staple, seeing potatoes combined with the DOP protected Montasio, a cheese traditionally crafted by monks using milk from Alpine-grazing cows. It was a bomb of a dish—and the food and wine kept flowing, ending with a whipped lemon and vodka gelato served via champagne flute. I wondered how I'd manage another 7 courses in just a few hours. Slightly buzzed, we drove for an hour before finding my new car waiting with blinkers on pulled off to the side of the road, making it one of the odder transfer experiences I'd had. Farewell hugs were exchanged, and I moved into my new car with Luigi, entering polite chat while desperately trying to stave off sleep.
On arrival we did the mandatory winery tour as our conversation turned brighter; luxury cars, fast bikes and art all being discussed. Luigi was clearly a man of culture. Even the tanks were works of art. And the tasting was informative, although on spying a couple of experimental bottles I tried to hint we taste them, but alas—no bites. So with a quick freshen up— I was ready for the night ahead. Charged with reading about the restaurant's seasonal and regional approach - where old meets new- combining creativity, instinct and technique—I was sold.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Luigi cried on arrival, perched beside the fanciest car I'd seen in a while. Low lying, with plush tan leather seats—this car was a work of art and Luigi smiled, "I brought it for you," explaining how delighted he was by our car chat. My stomach did an excitable flip. Taking the scenic route, we drive past two glorious lakes—with the impossibly blue Lago di Santa Croce being a haven for "windsurfers in the Summer." Falling slightly in love with the landscape, Luigi speaks of his wife. Incredibly stylish and full of charm, he clearly adores her, noting she's "partying with friends tonight." Their friendship group sounds like something from a movie, sharing decades of life, via holidays and more- and now, despite living all over the territory, they meet up when they can, to eat, drink and party.
Pulling up to the restaurant, its red Michelin plate proudly beams on entry, and its chic, minimalist interior follows, screaming class. I adore fine dining, and even more so artistically designed spaces. Here, they are fans of clean angles, fine plating and a very cool chair logo. Art dots the walls—and the overtly stylish bathroom is a treat to enter. The staff welcome us with genuine warmth—it's clear Luigi is important to them.
"We're like a family," he tells me as we're presented with a playful amuse bouche featuring a beetroot gelato that I could eat for days. Luigi unabashedly reveals a further surprise—his two experimental wines I'd been eyeing—Pluck and Würm—for us to share.
As we progress through the courses, stories and emotions intertwine with each dish. Everything is purposeful here—the smoked Alpago trout, caught fresh from their lake, presents dramatically with a green apple and wild garlic broth pooling around the fish. Next is a 'lessons in texture' risotto— juicy, crunchy and salty! Marinated watermelon shouldn't work in a risotto, and yet it does. Oysterand porcini combine in a kaleidoscope of flavours, with fennel, and lemongrass standing out.
Luigi pops his Pluck - Blanc de Noirs as we learn about the locally foraged mushrooms, and this is one salivating worthy concoction. The 100% Pinot Noir offers a journey through ginger—dried ginger, candied ginger, ground ginger and umami with dark miso, lemongrass and buttery brioche. Intriguingly complex and begging for big flavour pairings; this left-field risotto is a perfect match. Luigi follows with his 'masterpiece'—a wine named "Würm" one spending an astonishing 150 months on lees. "I created this when I became a father," he confesses. "I was spending a lot of time in the cellar then." He wasn't trying to make something different, but rather inspired by bottles he'd tasted around the world. This was the fourth vintage ever made—1995, 2003, 2008, and 2020.
The first sip left me speechless. It was perfect. Proudly beaming, Luigi tells me he's been told it tastes like Krug. An impossible feat for the Conegliano region. The reference wasn't lost on me—drinking it offers true pleasure; layers of vanilla, caramel apples and ripe yellow plum, dance alongside toast and a smattering of spice. It proved a fine match for two courses—namely the restaurants celebrated dish—Agnello d'Alpago, a Slow Food presidium. This lamb represents the apex of their philosophy—local, sustainable, and deeply connected to tradition. Luigi explains it should be enjoyed in a zigzag pattern of consumption, with all parts of the lamb represented on the plate. ”This is my child” Luigi whispers, eyes glistening while looking at his wine. Something shifts between us. It had been an emotional period for me of late—I'd lost a family member just before the trip, and I wasn't able to travel for the funeral. I felt my eyes well up. I wasn't prepared for this depth of connection over food and wine, yet found myself wholly present in the moment. We exchanged a look of understanding, one transcending words—this had become a journey through Luigi's life, and somehow, a part of mine. As the seven courses concluded, we lingered over espressos and the finest chocolate. "Would you like to go to the party?" he asked, referring to his wife and their friends. It was already 11pm, and he did start harvest the next day but what kind of a question was that?! Of course. And I'm glad we did. The gathering was vibrant and although almost no one spoke English, it hardly mattered. We understood each other via Champagne sips and dancing to the DJ's energetic beats until 3am.
This article was first published at ISSUE 2 Oysters & Martini Magazine: Our Day Ones
