OUR STORY

The air in the Roman countryside carried the warmth of the sun and the richness of history. Rome, a city where every meal tells a story has always celebrated food, family, and the joy of gathering around the table.

When I was a baby, and for as long as I can remember, my nonna would give me a small piece of dough to play with while she worked on her own mountain of pasta dough. The kitchen filled with the scent of flour and eggs, the gentle hum of conversation, and the steady rhythm of her hands. What seemed like play was my first lesson, a quiet introduction to patience, care, and love made visible through food.

In summer, the rhythm of cooking moved to Sardinia, where my mother, aunts, and grandparents filled the house with laughter and the sound of rolling pins tapping against wooden tables. There were always ravioli, gnocchetti, and every kind of pasta made and cooked fresh. I would weave between the grown-ups, fascinated by the magic they created together. Cooking wasn’t a task, it was joy shared among people who loved each other, and it continues to this day.

In Rome, pizza is part of everyday life; children grow up with it, often enjoying a warm slice at any hour of the day, whenever they want a snack.

The men in our family had their own traditions too. They took charge of grilling meats and fish, often outside in the garden where the smoky aroma filled the air. My nonno loved Sundays most of all, his day to eat freely and celebrate good food. He would prepare his signature roast chicken and his best sauces for pasta, cooked to perfection and bursting with flavour. Those Sundays were filled with happiness, warmth, and the comforting smell of food made with love.

My father is also an exceptional chef. Saturdays were his day in the kitchen while my mother was at work. He cooked from the heart, generous, creative, and, as my mother liked to say with a smile, “a little too much oil.” But that oil came from our own garden, made from olives my parents picked and pressed cold. It was 100% organic, rich and golden, and part of who we are. We still use that same oil here in the UK. Olive oil sommelier once told my parents their olive oil is “the best in the area”.

From my mother and father, I learned the same devotion to good, honest food. They showed me that the best dishes are simple, genuine, and shared with the people you love most.

Now, as a parent, I keep that spirit alive. While we make our family meals, my children stand beside me at the counter, rolling dough, shaping pasta, and discovering that cooking is an act of love, a connection between generations.

When my husband and I first met, we often dreamed of opening a small kitchen one day. After many years of contemplating and it finally feels like the right time to begin starting small, from home, with heart.

Every meal we prepare carries a piece of that story, the laughter, the aromas, the rhythm of the kitchen, and the love that started it all. Each strand of fettuccine, each sheet of lasagna, each dish and every roast chicken is made with care and memory.

This is our way of cooking, our way of caring, our way of saying “Welcome to our table.”

And with every bite, we hope you taste a little of Rome’s soul, a breath of Sardinia’s sea breeze and
the love of a family that still believes the best meals begin at home.