Located in the heart of Modena (Emilia-Romagna), at the foot of the Ghirlandina—the bell tower of Modena Cathedral—Patrizia is the restaurant of young chef Tommaso Zoboli.
Tommaso is only 25 years old. Born in Modena in May 1998, he began his culinary studies at just 16 years old at the Scuola Alberghiera e di Ristorazione di Serramazzoni, about 40 kilometers from Modena’s city center. In terms of professional experience, by the age of 18, he had already started working at Osteria Francescana under Massimo Bottura for two and a half years (2016–2018), during the tenure of Davide di Fabio from Dalla Gioconda as head chef. He then spent four years (2018–2022) as sous-chef to Gianfranco Pascucci at Pascucci al Porticciolo in Fiumicino (Rome), along with a winter internship in 2018 at St. Hubertus under Norbert Niederkofler. Furthermore, in 2021, he was awarded Best Chef Under 30 in Italy by Luigi Cremona’s Witaly magazine.
Supported and sponsored by renowned brands like Lavazza and Barilla, Tommaso collaborates with these companies on projects such as Be Human pasta—a human-shaped pasta created using 3D printing by BluRhapsody. He is also the star of La Prima Volta, a docuseries produced by Lavazza in collaboration with Tuorlo Magazine, with which Tommaso frequently works. Unlike traditional culinary documentaries focusing on famous chefs and success stories, La Prima Volta highlights lesser-known chefs embarking on new ventures and starting their projects.
Tommaso’s dream was to open his own restaurant at the age of 25, and Lavazza played a crucial role in making this milestone a reality. They supported him by arranging meetings with mentors and professionals, including Chef Davide Oldani, the creator of “Cucina Pop,” who served as a guide and creative inspiration, especially in emphasizing the importance of teamwork. Italian tennis champion Jannik Sinner provided advice on discipline, perseverance, and overcoming challenges, much like a top athlete. Lastly, Ferran Adrià, a pivotal figure in the culinary world, assisted Tommaso in honing his creativity and understanding key aspects of entrepreneurship that every young professional must master.
Patrizia opened its doors on October 7, 2023, in the space previously occupied by the historic Omer restaurant. We visited just four months after its opening. Tommaso shared with us that we were only the second group of foreign diners to visit, following some guests from Lyon, France.
The restaurant is named after Tommaso’s late mother, Patrizia, who embodies his more irrational and dreamlike side. He explained that he enjoys being at the counter to personally present the dishes because, according to him, each dish carries a story and a concept. This approach allows him to foster a close, personal connection with the guests.
Many have described him as one of Italy’s most promising new talents. To me, he comes across as a young man with a clear vision, a solid culinary foundation, and a well-grounded, thoughtful, and pragmatic mindset. He is ambitious in the sense of being unsatisfied with the status quo and eager to grow, all while being undeniably passionate. He exudes confidence and composure and is open to criticism—so much so that he actively seeks it.
Undoubtedly, he is part of Italy’s new wave of talent and has both the potential and the time to develop further. He seems to care for his team, fostering a positive work environment with reasonable working hours. He also openly discusses fair wages and regular days off, aiming to avoid the exhausting shifts that are all too common in the industry.
THE SPACE
The restaurant is located on the ground floor of a narrow street in the heart of Modena, where cars rarely pass by. To enter, guests must ring the doorbell. Upon stepping inside, they are greeted by an audiovisual projection that simulates entering a lush forest, a fictional world with a magical, fairytale-like atmosphere.
The dining area consists of a U-shaped counter with comfortable high stools, accommodating around 14 guests. At this counter, Tommaso and his two station heads, Marcello and Federico, finish and plate the dishes. However, the kitchen itself is hidden behind a wall made of glass bricks by Poesia Glass, the Italian studio responsible for the glass façade of the former Chanel boutique (now Hermès) in Amsterdam. The setup creates the intimate feel of a chef’s table or a kitchen table, where the distance between chef and guest is minimized—and, as I prefer, also between guests themselves. Above the counter hang two Parentesi lamps, designed by Achille Castiglioni and Pio Manzu in 1971, which not only add to the decor but also serve to warm the plates.
Additionally, Patrizia features a second dining area with a communal table that can seat 4 to 8 people. This space caters to guests who prefer a more private dining experience or who may not seek direct interaction with the kitchen.
THE TEAM
The team at Patrizia is exceptionally young. It includes two head chefs, Federico Poppi and Marcello Bergamini, both just 19 years old. Born in 2004 in Formigine (Modena), they are both culinary school graduates. Their strong bond and seamless collaboration with Tommaso are evident. In fact, Tommaso admits he can’t even speak of them individually, referring to them as “Marci&Fede” or “Fede&Marci,” likening them to Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
In the dining room, sommelier Elettra Orsi, born in 2000 in Altedo (Bologna), has known Tommaso since childhood—they went to school together and reconnected while working at Osteria Francescana. Alongside Emilia and Victoria in the kitchen, the entire team delivers service that is both tender and admirably professional, embodying a youthful yet skilled approach to hospitality.
THE CULINARY EXPERIENCE
Patrizia is a unique restaurant that transforms entirely every four months with the changing seasons. Not only does the menu undergo a complete overhaul, but the entire space adapts as well. This includes changes to the decor, lighting, music, and artwork—at the time of our visit, golden, jewel-like creations by young Italian artist Antonella Zazzera adorned the walls. Even the team’s uniforms are updated to align with the new menu. The restaurant is like a multifaceted theater stage, where everything revolves around the menu, and the setting evolves with each new “performance.”
There is no à la carte option. Instead, Patrizia offers two set menus:
- Lunch Menu: Previously served only during weekday lunches, it featured three courses for €35 (currently no longer available).
- Seasonal Tasting Menu: This quarterly-changing menu is offered in two versions—a short version with five courses for €55 (later raised to €60 in the second edition) or a long version with eight courses for €85 (later increased to €95).
I find it essential to highlight the physical menu, which is designed and printed as if it were a magazine, complete with numbering to signify a new edition for each season. While the aesthetic might not align with my personal taste as a classic enthusiast of textured papers and more traditional menus, I must acknowledge that it serves as a dynamic graphic medium. The menu exudes a youthful, urban, energetic, and informal vibe, with a highly polished graphic design.
This magazine-style menu, available only in Italian, includes pages detailing the concept of “Tradi-Uzione” and their culinary philosophy, which I will explain shortly. It also outlines the dining options, specifying the menus and pairings, and features a QR code linking to the wine list. Each dish on the menu is presented with its ingredients, allergens, a brief description, and a graphic illustration of the dish created by the young artist Illario Luigi Filippo.
The menu also features advertisements for Lavazza and BlueRhapsody, the collaborators behind Barilla’s pasta, but these are incorporated with great finesse. They blend seamlessly into the format without feeling intrusive or disruptive. Allergens are clearly indicated with concise descriptions, and, impressively, the menu even includes detailed floor plans of the restaurant, specifying the square meters of each space.
Additionally, there is a Spotify link to a curated playlist designed to accompany the dining experience. For example, during the Graffiti Menu, the playlist featured hip-hop tracks spanning the 80s, 90s, and contemporary artists like Dargen D’Amico and Francesco Gaudesi.
This magazine-style menu leaves no detail overlooked. It includes photographs of each team member alongside brief biographies, a short manifesto describing the project’s vision, goals, and achievements, and acknowledgments of the brands and individuals who support the restaurant. The visual elements, sourced from platforms like Unsplash, Pinterest, Savee, or Journal Article, consist of posters, photos, and illustrations with a highly refined graphic design—so much so that they could easily be framed as individual works of art.
The first menu, named Graffiti, aimed to pay homage to Modena by reinterpreting traditional and local recipes to suit the present moment. While the aesthetics and textures were modernized, the essence and core of the recipes remained unchanged. To communicate this idea, they drew a parallel between the city’s historical monuments (representing the traditional recipes) and graffiti or urban art (representing the contemporary adaptations). The concept was to think of traditional recipes as historical monuments upon which irreverent graffiti could be drawn, changing their appearance without altering their soul.
The idea of adapting to the current era resonates with me, though I’m unsure whether such irreverence is necessary; for me, respect and admiration for the past are paramount. However, Tommaso insists that young people don’t hate tradition—they simply want to express themselves and leave their mark. He employs the term “Tradi-Uzione,” a play on the Italian words tradizione (tradition) and traduzione (translation), which could be rendered in English as “Trad-uction.” The idea is to translate tradition through the lens of the current generation.
Tommaso firmly believes that cooking is an art. The question he poses is how artistic the act of cooking can become. He explains that cooking is instinct, necessity, creativity, and taste—all filtered through the human body. He says, “When Picasso closes his eyes, he disappears; when Mozart covers his ears, he can’t hear. But when we eat, we can close our eyes and cover our ears, and the emotions don’t cease.” For this reason, he sees cooking as a natural and instinctive art that we must listen to.
This perspective reminds me of the concept of total or absolute art that the Roca brothers discussed in El Somni in 2013.
THE DRINK OFFERING
The wine list is digital, accessible via a QR code found in the magazine-style menu. It’s highly graphical and interactive, featuring a map of Italy with clickable points for each region, highlighting Italian wines prominently. Additionally, there is a link to wines from other parts of the world (via another map), which include selections from countries like France (primarily Champagne, along with some light whites and reds), as well as a few references from Spain, Germany, Slovenia, and even Israel.
By clicking on a wine, guests can access detailed information, including the vintage, grape varieties, production method, alcohol content, municipality and region, price, a brief tasting note, and a photo of the bottle. While the list is categorized by region rather than by wine type, which can make searching for whites, reds, rosés, or sparkling wines less intuitive, it remains concise and offers both natural and conventional wines at very reasonable prices (with the most expensive around €100). The pricing is inviting, encouraging guests to explore the selections.
The restaurant also offers two pairing options:
- 3-glass pairing: €45 (€35 for the second menu)
- 5-glass pairing: €75 (€55 for the second menu)
However, these are provided without additional details.
The service, led by the young sommelier and maître d’ Elettra Orsi, was outstanding. Beyond offering an excellent wine selection, she perfectly understood our request and nailed the pairing. A highly commendable recommendation!
WHAT WE DRANK
We enjoyed a bottle of Procanico 2021 by Antonio Camillo (Toscana IGT) for €30, although the menu listed it at €25.
The winery is located in Manciano, in the province of Grosseto, within the Maremma Toscana region, at an altitude of approximately 440 meters.
Antonio Camillo, born in Tuscany, worked for 15 years as an oenologist in wineries such as Poggio Argentiera under Giampaolo Paglia before starting his own project in 2006. That year, he purchased two old vineyards, aged between 40 and 60 years, located near the Lazio border, totaling 5 hectares (now expanded to 12 hectares). Antonio Camillo produces natural wines with minimal intervention, using natural products like copper. He collaborates with a group of young and innovative winemakers who are making a name for themselves in this part of the world. He also cultivates varieties such as Ciliegiolo, Vermentino, Canaiolo, Ansonica, Malvasia, and Sangiovese.
Supposedly a local clone of Trebbiano Toscano, this Procanico wine is made from hand-harvested grapes, fully destemmed, and fermented and macerated on the skins for 15 days in concrete tanks with indigenous wild yeasts. It is aged for one year in concrete tanks, including six months on its lees, and undergoes complete spontaneous malolactic fermentation. The wine is bottled unfiltered and unstabilized, with an alcohol content of 13%. It is priced at €18–20 retail and sold for €30 at the restaurant.
This is a natural, organic orange wine made through skin maceration, showcasing a distinctly Georgian style. It turned out to be highly aromatic, with floral, citrus, and slightly spiced notes, and could even be mistaken for a delicate dry Muscat. It has good acidity, is fresh and medium-bodied, with very soft tannins and a considerable finish. A surprisingly elegant and well-balanced wine.
THE MEAL
We chose the 8-course menu (€95), which consisted of 12 servings, broken down as follows: 3 appetizers, 6 main courses, 2 desserts, and 1 petits fours.
The menu for that February was their second, titled “Fairytale Called Life” (“Una favola chiamata vita”), inspired by fairy tales.
It begins like this:
What is the difference between what we are told as children and what life truly is?
Once upon a time, there was a princess named Life, cursed by a spell that could only be broken with a kiss. The princess was imprisoned in a castle guarded by a fearsome dragon named Reality. Many brave knights attempted to free her, but all failed. The princess waited and waited for her love in the most remote chamber of the tallest tower in the dragon’s fortress.
The journey begins in a faraway kingdom, guided by the thoughts of a chef who, through memories, imagination, and a touch of madness, will take us on a journey through unexpected worlds and dystopian visions.
Bon voyage!
3 APPETIZERS served simultaneously.
1. C’era una volta
Honey, bees. The extinction of bees.
Just like in the most beautiful fairy tales, where a narrator begins stories of heroes and princesses with the expression “Once upon a time,” in our journey, this phrase becomes not only a beginning but also a message about the profound importance of a small gesture or a tiny being like a bee.
As Albert Einstein famously said, “If the bees disappear from the Earth, mankind will only have four years left to live.”
This dish draws inspiration from a typical Italian breakfast—fetta biscottata (a twice-baked bread, sliced after the second bake to remove additional moisture, resulting in a dry bread that lasts longer than fresh bread). It is traditionally accompanied by butter, jam, or honey.
In this case, a fetta biscottata is served with butter and honey from West Pokot, a county in Kenya located 10 hours by car from Nairobi. The honey is produced with the support of the Italian NGO CEFA, which trains and assists the Cheror group—a collective of 24 beekeepers from the region—during a time of drought and climate crisis like the one we are currently experiencing.
2. Don’t lick it
Wasabi, gin, frizzipazzi, and euphoria.
We were taught that imagination knows no bounds—so much so that we could believe a kiss on a frog might transform it into a prince. The truth is, the frog will never become a prince, and the only way to chase such a fairy tale is to avoid reality and embrace imagination. The frog isn’t kissed—it’s licked.
On the other hand, the frog—since it won’t be licked by a prince like in fairy tales, but rather, in real life, is only licked as a hallucinogen—features an emulsion of apple, wasabi, and oyster leaf on top.
In the end, there was a tingling, effervescent sensation on the tongue, reminiscent of Peta Zetas (known in Italy as Frizzy-Pazzy, the “fizzy” granules that drive you pazzi or “crazy”), essentially the traditional fizzy candy or sherbet powder.
3. Potion
Secrets.
What is the secret to true love? Do you trust us?
Finally, a red-colored broth, resembling a cocktail with alcohol, fruity from a sweet blackcurrant juice or something similar, and slightly spicy with a hint of spice. The recipe, however, remained a mystery—just like love, the ingredients are unknown. It was very enjoyable, not overly sweet, and truly a delicious bacio d’amore (kiss of love).
That said, C’era una volta is an expression that, in the context of gastronomy, will forever remind me of Norbert Niederkofler’s dish at AlpiNN, “C’era una volta una trota” (Once upon a time, a trout).
THE MAIN PART OF THE MEAL
4. La Pavironica
Tortelli, butter, and sage.
Some fables are never fully understood, whether as a child or as an adult—perhaps because they are read rather than lived. This is the case with a Modenese fable called “La Famiglia Pavironica” (“The Pavironica Family”), which is said to be better experienced than explained.
During the celebrations of Fat Thursday (Giovedì Grasso), three actors dressed as 18th-century peasants portray the three members of the Pavironica family. They parade through the streets of Modena and conclude by delivering a speech in the Modenese dialect from the balcony of the Town Hall, overlooking Piazza Grande.
The Pavironica Family consists of Sandrone, who represents the peasant of the past—harsh but clever and resourceful—a spokesperson for the humble and mistreated. He is a character who always seeks ways to make ends meet. His wife, Pulonia, is submissive to her husband and has no feminist inclinations; she embodies the rezdòra, the matron of the family, responsible for managing the household and daily family life. Lastly, their son, Sgorghìgolo, is a teenager who represents eternal youth, ignorant but sly.
The name Pavironica derives from pavéra, a type of grass used by peasants to make blankets, hats, chairs, or mats to protect themselves from the cold, humidity, and rain. This era, marked by imagination and ingenuity, helped people survive harsh conditions of poverty. It shaped the character of the Modenese people, accustomed to adversity and content with a calm, slow, and resigned demeanor, yet always dedicated to building rather than destroying and willing to help others.
Sandrone is a traditionalist who distrusts progress, believing that innovations often bring new misfortunes. He values the family as an indispensable and irreplaceable necessity. A hard-working and thrifty individual, he plans for an uncertain future. These traits characterize the ancient people of Modena, many of whom have passed these qualities down to newer generations. These are also the qualities of Sandrone, the central figure of the Pavironica Family—a centuries-old creation that remains alive and well today, with Modenese people still identifying with it.
The dish represents Carnival in Modena through the eyes of a bambino modenese (a Modenese child).
On one side, there’s a tortellone with butter and sage. At the base is a small tortino made with mountain ricotta and Parmigiano. On top, a seaweed sauce is added, followed by buttered spinach, pieces of Parma prosciutto, and a few fresh mint leaves.
It’s a kind of deconstructed tortellini—traditionally filled with ricotta and spinach and served with Parmigiano and herbs like sage or mint.
It had the aroma of prosciutto. The tortino made with ricotta was like a warm, fluffy pastry—somewhere between a royale and a dense ricotta soufflé baked with Parmigiano. I really enjoyed it. When it left the kitchen, it was steaming, but they took so long to plate the other ingredients that by the time it reached us, it had already cooled. The sage was crisp but not fried, preserving its flavor—very good. The taste of mint was noticeable. I would have preferred it hotter, but it was still delicious. Fresh, despite the creaminess of the cheese and sauce. A very good start!
On the side, served on a small plate, was frappa—a dough made from flour, eggs, and sugar, traditionally fried in plenty of lard and served drizzled with a bit of honey or dusted with powdered sugar. This recipe dates back to medieval times and is a typical treat for Carnival. It’s known by different names across Italy: berlingozzi or cenci in Tuscany, crostoli in Friuli, struffoli in Campania, chiacchiere in Lombardy, bugie in Liguria, sfrappole in Emilia-Romagna, cenci in Umbria, or galani in Veneto.
A very thin dough that puffs up, becoming hollow inside and wonderfully crispy—reminiscent of orejas from Galicia or orelles from Priorat. In this case, it was cut very thin, like fried tagliatelle, cooked in olio di vinaccioli (grape seed oil made from the skins and pomace). Shaped into a delicate nest, it heightened the fragility of the frappe, which crumbled easily. Instead of sugar, it was dusted with Parmigiano and paired with a touch of semi-dry wine to add acidity. Delicate and delicious, and the frying was impeccably clean!
5. Ratatouille
Mandarin, poison.
Sometimes, we wish we didn’t have to think, to act without regrets, and to find someone to guide us and make everything easier. But deep down, we enjoy doing things our way and having our own identity.
A dish inspired by Ratatouille, the 2007 American animated film produced by Pixar and distributed by Walt Disney, which tells the story of Rémy, a rat living in Paris who dreams of becoming a chef.
The dish is unveiled by lifting the lid of a hat, revealing a ratatouille made from vegetables, each cooked individually. On top, delicately integrated nori seaweed leaves add a unique touch. Next, a red sauce is poured—a natural concentrate of tomatoes and peppers cooked sous vide, with no salt, oil, or other ingredients. Finally, a drizzle of “poison” is added. The plate itself featured an engraving of Rémy, the beloved character from the film.
The dish smelled of mandarin—the “poison” that had just been drizzled. I think it was well-represented as a poison because it’s a scent that catches your attention and warns you, but it doesn’t align with the flavor we typically associate with a ratatouille. The vegetables themselves were rather bland, with the nori dominating the palate. Thankfully, the red sauce was very intense and dense; without it, I would have missed the vegetable flavors essential to a true ratatouille.
They served half a slice of pane di segale in cassetta (1.2 kg rye loaf) from Forno Brisa in Bologna. The rye was organically cultivated by Alessandro d’Angelo at Contrada Ginestre, in the hills of Pescara (Abruzzo).
6. Rosa, rosae, rosetta
Rose, Comté, Spalla cotta.
A dish inspired by the story Beauty and the Beast by French author Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, better known through Walt Disney’s version, in which the Beast treasures his rose as the most precious thing in the world.
For Tommaso and his team, the most precious thing in the world is their traditions, which they strive to preserve by sharing, showcasing, and treating them with respect and care—just as they would nurture a rose.
The dish was served under a glass cloche, thankfully not smoked (I always get nervous when I see cloches…).
At the base, they poured a sauce made from Parmigiano, cream, and rose petals from a ladle. On top, they placed a rose made from their homemade pasta dough of flour and eggs, layered with spalla cotta di Parma slices soaked in a Comté béchamel, all baked together in the oven.
(Spalla cotta is a traditional salume from San Secondo Parmense and the entire province of Parma in Emilia-Romagna. Made from pork shoulder, it is steamed and served warm, typically paired with torta fritta. This rounded cured meat, about 30 cm long, is dark pink in color and is usually sliced with a knife rather than a machine.)
To finish, a rose powder was sprinkled on top.
Although inspired by the rose in Beauty and the Beast, the dish reminded me more of the proud and dramatic rose cared for by the Little Prince on asteroid B612.
The Parmigiano sauce at the base was exceptionally refined, and the rose didn’t have that artificial taste since it wasn’t made with oil, essence, or extract. Instead, it was infused rose petals blended into the cream sauce. The sauce mixed slightly with the Comté béchamel that coated the spalla cotta, which was lightly browned and crispy at the edges. The Comté in the béchamel stretched and formed strings.
This felt like a truly local recipe—a rosette modenese. Even though it was my first time trying it, the dish seemed both respectful of the original recipe and incredibly well-executed. While it might resemble lasagna at first glance, it had nothing in common with it.
Everything melted in the mouth—soft and succulent, with gentle, warm, and mild flavors of cheese, cream, béchamel, and pork salume. Despite what might seem like a hyper-caloric and heavy dish, it was surprisingly delicate and refined, though still hearty. Delicious.
7. Rape-Ronzolo
Beetroot, saffron, and gold.
Rape-Ronzolo or Raperonzolo is an 1812 fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm, which many of us may recognize as Rapunzel, also known in some versions as Repunxeta or Repunxó. Interestingly, she turns out to be Cinderella’s mother.
Tommaso explains that the recipes of his mentors showcase the beauty of Italian cuisine and are locked away in a tower, much like the maiden Rapunzel. They wondered whether saffron and gold spaghetti could serve as the thread connecting a princess to her master.
Since they wanted to bring the recipe out of the tower—and the only way to escape is through the maiden’s golden hair—they created this dish of spaghetti with saffron and gold.
The dish consisted of saffron and gold spaghetti, representing Cinderella’s golden hair and, with the gold, evoking thoughts of Gualtiero Marchesi, especially in Italy. Alongside, there was a dark red beetroot sauce, caramelized like a soft caramel, made from reduced beetroot juice with butter. A small dot of green sauce, made from parsley and ossobuco, accompanied the dish.
The spaghetti was warm, al dente, and had a distinct saffron flavor. The beetroot sauce reminded me of a Spanish sauce—it seemed to have a meat base, with the taste of reduced butter, though it didn’t appear to be thickened with flour like a roux. In any case, it was absolutely delicious.The dish looked so appealing while being plated that one of the diners on the shorter menu requested to add it to their meal.
8. Pinocchio diventa Cenerentola per Bambi
Deer, ash, hazelnuts, wood, and therapy.
From a young age, we are taught that life is beautiful but also challenging. Starting with Pinocchio, who is unhappy with his body, moving to Cinderella, a symbol of exploitation, and finally to Bambi, burdened by family trauma after losing his mother.
In this way, they emphasize the importance of mental health and express their desire, as chefs, to burn their traumas and work through them, transforming them into a recipe.
The dish featured a venison filet from a farm (not wild but grass-fed) in New Zealand, smoked with palo santo wood, rosemary, cranberries, and bay leaves, then glazed with a soy sauce. At the base was a hazelnut sauce, topped with grated hazelnuts.
Served in a separate bowl was an eggplant foam dusted with coffee powder and eggplant skin powder.
Inside a head-shaped sculpture reminiscent of a Plensa creation, a piece of burning palo santo wood (from the same family as frankincense and myrrh) added fragrance to the atmosphere, creating a sense of harmony, peace, and tranquility.
The dish had a delightful aroma of hazelnuts, and the venison was perfectly cooked—pink, slightly rare, tender, and juicy. The smoky flavor and soy glaze were subtle, with neither overpowering the dish. It wasn’t overly salty from the soy, nor did it seem heavily glazed. The hazelnut sauce complemented the meat beautifully. Initially, they mentioned the venison was from Tuscany, but later clarified it was from New Zealand. They explained that while they had tested Tuscan venison, it was too strong in flavor. So, I ate the dish believing the venison was Tuscan. Regardless of its origin, I found it to be of high quality—perhaps milder in game flavor, though that could also be attributed to the cooking method. In any case, I want to emphasize that, while I’ve occasionally been able to identify the origin, variety, vineyard, vintage, and producer when tasting wines blind, I lack the expertise to determine the origin of venison. My curiosity lies in understanding why New Zealand venison was chosen, considering Italy and other European countries also produce it.
The eggplant foam served in the bowl was more like a royale made from eggplant and potato, though it had a stronger buttery flavor than eggplant. The coffee taste was hardly noticeable. It was good, but I would have preferred it warmer.
Luckily, the palo santo wasn’t overly aromatic and didn’t produce much smoke, so it didn’t bother me. Its scent was mildly sweet, woody, slightly citrusy, and reminiscent of coconut.
Conceptually, the dish is meant to represent “Pinocchio becoming Cinderella through or for Bambi.” I could identify Bambi through the venison, but I’m still wondering where Pinocchio and Cinderella were in the dish. Perhaps it’s too many stories, combined with the mental health theme, to be conveyed in a single plate.
9. Il Lupo
Lamb, cranberries, and a wolf.
In many fairy tales, the wolf is the villain, especially in the Brothers Grimm’s story “The Wolf and the Seven Young Goats.” In this tale, the mother goat warns her kids not to open the door to anyone while she is out shopping, but the wolf attempts to enter the house to eat the seven young goats.
They explain that they’ve analyzed the figure of the wolf and realized that, many times, it is humans who become the wolf. That’s why they serve a lamb rib and ask us: who is the wolf now, and who is eating the young goats? The answer is clear: we are.
Two lamb ribs glazed with a sauce of fermented cranberries, topped with a radish and yogurt sauce and dandelion leaves.
Served without utensils, as intended, I took the first bite by pulling the meat off with my teeth, as they suggested. However, I soon asked for cutlery because the experience felt too “wild,” and I found I could better appreciate the flavors by cutting with a fork and knife. The two ribs were particularly small, likely from a milk-fed lamb of about 10 kg, and also from New Zealand. The meat was pink, tender, juicy, and exceptionally lean—clean-tasting with no hint of the typical gaminess associated with lamb. The cranberries were very mild and not at all sweet, and the yogurt sauce complemented the dish perfectly without overpowering the delicate flavor of the lamb.
THE DESSERTS
10. Olaf
Semifreddo and a warm hug.
Olaf is a snowman character from Frozen, the Disney film about a princess from the ice kingdom.
Normally, it doesn’t make sense for the sun to touch ice, but in this case, combining cold and warmth makes perfect sense because Olaf’s dream is to melt into a warm hug.
Tommaso explains that since the beginning of industrialization, the global average temperature has risen by 1.1°C. On land, the increase is 1.6°C, and in the oceans, it’s 0.9°C—an unprecedented warming not seen in the past 2,000 years. This dessert is created to reflect on the concept of global warming.
The dish is a semifreddo: a lemon ice cream shaped like Olaf’s head. At the base is a paste made from citron and thyme, which I could barely detect. At the table, a black sauce they call “petroleum” is poured around it. The sauce is made from banana, a hint of red cranberries, licorice, Calvados, mint, and a spicy touch of peperoncino. They recommend waiting a minute to let it soften slightly before eating.
The black banana sauce with Calvados was served warm, but it quickly cooled once mixed with the ice cream. I would have preferred the warm temperature to last longer. It had the taste of overripe banana, reminiscent of those bourbon-like notes when bananas become soft and brown. I found it absolutely delicious. The lemon ice cream melted into a yogurt-like consistency, which was very pleasant, with a soft and voluminous texture, seemingly churned with cream. The only thing I could have done without were the candied lemon cubes.
Visually, this dessert reminded me of the Black Benne & Blackcurrant I had at Ikoyi in June 2018, a dessert made with black sesame and blackcurrants. Likely, this was due to the black sauce—a color that’s quite rare in cuisine (despite the existence of black ingredients like squid ink, caviar, black garlic, certain lentils, black olives, and fruits like blackberries or blackcurrants, as well as dark chocolate) and even rarer in desserts. It was also due to the black color paired with a contrasting vibrant shade—at Ikoyi, it was magenta, and at Patrizia, it was yellow.
Although the ingredients were entirely different, the fact that the banana sauce wasn’t particularly sweet made it feel “savory,” similar to Jeremy Chan’s sesame sauce. Combined with the silky-creamy texture, both sauces had comparable densities, creating a similar sensory experience.
11. Biancanieve
Torta di riso, torta di miele e egocentrismo.
A dish inspired by Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs by the Brothers Grimm—or, more specifically, by the scene in which the wicked stepmother asks her mirror: “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”
The team brings this phrase into the real world, applying it to a modern societal issue: social media, where aesthetics and image often take precedence over content.
To start, they provide a QR code for guests to take a selfie with the name “Patrizia” displayed on their face.
The dish was served in a tall, opaque glass, representing the mirror. It was a blend of a grandmother’s apple pie and a torta di riso modenese (Modenese rice cake).
At the bottom was a baked apple infused with Alchermes—a typical Florentine liqueur made from neutral alcohol infused with cinnamon, vanilla, sugar, raspberries, cardamom, and the female kermes insect, which provides the red dye (carmine) that gives the liqueur its name. On top of this was a sweet risotto made with milk scented with Sassolino—a star anise liqueur from Sassuolo, Modena. This was topped with a milk foam made using a siphon, and finally, a thin apple sheet, made from the leftovers of the baked apples with Alchermes. These were dehydrated in the oven until crisp like a wafer and cut into snowflake shapes using a children’s cookie cutter.
Unfortunately, I don’t recall the temperature of the dish—whether it was hot or cold. It was somewhat difficult to eat from the tall tubular glass, and the presentation didn’t shine as much as it could have in this format. Still, the blend of rice pudding and baked apples was absolutely delicious, with a dense and concentrated flavor.
PETITS FOURS
12. Sbrisolona
As with all journeys, we eventually return home. Inspired by the Brothers Grimm’s Hansel and Gretel, who left breadcrumbs to find their way back, they offer us this sbrisolona—crumbled and scattered, just like breadcrumbs.
Made with white and corn flour, butter, eggs, almonds, and scented with a touch of lemon zest, the sbrisolona is a delightful conclusion to the meal.
Served atop a stunning mirror-effect pedestal without any accompaniment—no chocolate cream, no zabaione like Andrea Fenoglio serves at Sissi in Merano, nor the famous zabaglione e cotechino as Massimo Bottura offers.
It was excellent: crisp, with the freshness of something made that very day. It was so good that there was no need to dip it in a sweet wine or grappa. It was best enjoyed directly and with bare hands. When the execution is this perfect, there’s no need for an endless series of petits fours—just a few crumbs to savor, revisit, and extend the conversation at the table. Utensils? Entirely unnecessary.
…e vissero per sempre felici e contenti… forse…
…and they lived happily ever after… perhaps…
THE COFFEE
As expected from a restaurant sponsored by Lavazza, the menu includes an entire page dedicated to coffee.
After his experience at the Lavazza Training Center, he chose the La Reserva ¡Tierra! Colombia blend, both for its coffee and for the human and environmental sustainability project behind it. He explains that, after testing this coffee with various brewing methods, the Chemex stood out as his favorite because it brought out a mango flavor that was absolutely incredible.
At Patrizia, he offers three brewing methods (moka, Chemex, and espresso), as he believes coffee varies greatly depending on the extraction method—a sentiment I share. He enjoys serving the coffee himself, interpreting the guest’s taste preferences, and performing the Chemex ritual as though it were tailored to the guest. He says that if the guest is in a hurry, he makes an espresso, but if they have time, savoring a moka or a Chemex brew is ideal.
He believes coffee is the last sip a guest takes at a restaurant (though I argue it could also be wine or water, right?), and it should leave them with a good impression. Therefore, alongside the coffee, they also serve a chocolate created by chocolatier Marco Colzani (from Carate Brianza, in the province of Monza and Brianza, in the Lombardy region). After tasting the coffee, Colzani crafted this chocolate to reflect the exotic fruit notes of La Reserva ¡Tierra! Colombia. It’s made with 78% dark chocolate from São Tomé.
THE CUISINE AND CONCLUSIONS
PRECONCEPTIONS
When I first heard about Tommaso Zoboli, he immediately caught my attention. Still, like many others, I had certain preconceptions, and making a whole trip just to meet him felt like a risk. I feared the worst—I thought he might be too young to offer a solid culinary experience. Having worked with Massimo Bottura, I assumed he’d be serving “chemical” cuisine (as though traditional cuisine isn’t also chemical, but you get the idea), something “Michelinized” and globalized, with more theatrics than substance. I imagined he might try to pass off outdated techniques and concepts from 20–30 years ago as avant-garde, author-driven cuisine. I expected caricatured ideas of Ferran Adrià’s influence, copying the worst of molecular and showpiece cooking.
On top of that, I knew he was offering 3D-printed dishes, was sponsored by Lavazza, and even had a documentary before opening his restaurant. He had all the elements to make me skeptical.
It’s ironic that Ferran Adrià’s revolutionary freedom, which liberated chefs from the rigidity of tradition and opened infinite space for creativity, has now become a structure, a process, and a format that confines and limits the creativity of so many chefs.
Even so, there was something intangible about Tommaso that made me curious enough not to dismiss him. I was very eager to see how he cooked, so after seeing what he offered in his first menu, I decided to give him a vote of confidence. In the end, I’ve always enjoyed and been intrigued by discovering what young chefs are doing, how they cook, and what they think—especially someone 8 years younger than me.
I put myself in his shoes and wondered how I would approach standing out as a chef in such a crowded, varied, and fiercely competitive industry—one where you often can’t even compare yourself to the competition but still end up “competing” with them. I also reflected on myself: in today’s world, would I have traveled to Modena to meet him if he hadn’t caught my attention through media, social networks, awards, documentaries, sponsorships, aligning himself with culinary authorities like Ferran Adrià and Massimo Bottura, using 3D printing, and presenting a holistic discourse? Well-cooked venison and perfectly executed pasta with cheese and béchamel can be found in countless places between Maresme and Modena. How does one stand out from the rest?
As Neichel used to say, “In the kitchen, you have to be different, unique, because no one travels kilometers to eat the same thing they could eat in their own town.”
WHAT I FOUND
ORGANOLEPTICALLY, the cuisine is very approachable, with a warmth brought by the use of butter, cream, cheeses, béchamel, and familiar flavors. The dishes are well-executed using highly traditional techniques and without avant-garde kitchen equipment. In fact, the kitchen itself is notably small, with just two gas burners (used mostly for making stock), four induction hobs, one oven, two fryers, a vacuum sealer, a small storage area, and that’s about it. He was excited because he was about to receive a robata from Rizzoli.
Visually, the cuisine stands out as well, with a highly refined aesthetic. The dishes are easily identifiable with Patrizia, which I find impressive, especially for a restaurant that has just opened. Moreover, the cuisine shines for its precise execution—something I want to emphasize. Every technique and preparation is extremely well done, and it is through the plating and presentation that these dishes are transformed into a fantasy.
IN TERMS OF INGREDIENTS, they don’t particularly highlight the origin of the products, nor do they follow a locavore or farm-to-table philosophy. For instance, the venison and lamb were from New Zealand. Contradictorily, however, they do reference global warming and climate change. That said, their discourse consistently includes traditional cuisine, the local recipe book, their beloved Modena, and the entire Emilia-Romagna region. The ingredient combinations are therefore familiar and recognizable.
No fish or seafood was served. When I later asked why, Tommaso explained that it was because they didn’t fit into any of the fairy tales, though he isn’t closed off to using these ingredients. I’m curious to see how he cooks and works with fish or seafood in the future.
The menu follows a very classic structure (two vegetable-focused dishes, two pasta dishes, two meat dishes, and two desserts) with generous portions. Eight courses in 12 servings seem like a sufficient amount and variety to enjoy the meal without feeling overwhelmed by endless menus with 35 or 40 preparations.
The pacing of the service, however, felt a bit too slow. Watching them plate is entertaining, but there’s too much waiting between dishes, and some of the plates arrived lukewarm.
Tommaso explains that the first menu was more traditional (updated but traditional), while the second is very different, with more creativity in the plating. Having not tasted the first menu and only seen photos, I find it hard to agree—it looked very modern, modern in a Massimo Bottura sense. I mentioned to him that I couldn’t see a clear thread connecting the two menus, as they seemed like the work of two completely different people with distinct styles. He confirmed this, saying that they cook based on the moment: the first menu was for the restaurant’s opening—a time of fear and uncertainty when he needed to feel comfortable and secure, cooking something familiar. With the second menu, they were ready to experiment with new ideas.
He enjoys the idea of turning a new page every four months, wiping the slate clean, and starting fresh by eliminating everything from the previous menu and introducing new concepts. While this means he may never have an iconic, representative dish for his restaurant, it allows him to live in the moment and focus on the present. At first glance, this seems like a risky challenge. Time will tell how long this pace can be sustained.
That said, going back to Bottura, one of his iconic dishes is “Oops I dropped the lemon tart”—a creation from 20 years ago that he still serves in 2024, even though it has little to do with Bottura’s current mindset. From that perspective, it doesn’t seem so wrong to constantly renew. Perhaps the balance lies in renewing the dishes without losing the essence. As I’ve said before, we’ll have to see how this all unfolds.
I also think it’s important to highlight the virtual world of Patrizia, which is far more developed than in most restaurants, particularly in its use of new technologies. While it didn’t enhance my experience—and I’m firmly against dining with a phone nearby—it didn’t detract from it either. There are moments when you interact with your phone, not just through QR codes linking to their website or wine list, but also their Spotify playlists or taking a selfie where the word Patrizia appears on the photo for the dessert inspired by “Mirror, mirror.”
To be fair, they could incorporate even more new technologies and make the experience more modern in this regard, but I’m not sure if that’s what they’re aiming for. It’s curious that the music wasn’t very audible, as it’s supposedly curated specifically for the dining experience.
Their communication is also very well executed—active and personal—through their social media, website, media coverage, and interactions during the restaurant experience. Every detail, not just in the kitchen but in every aspect of the business, is carefully thought out, well-executed, and evidently deeply considered by Tommaso.
From the imagery and aesthetics to the narrative, cuisine, presentation, and hospitality, everything has been deliberately planned. This extends to the training and leadership of his team and the development of a business plan, which are as important—if not more so—than the cuisine itself when starting a personal project.
ON THE STORYTELLING LEVEL AND HOW TOMMASO USES INSPIRATION FROM NON-CULINARY ELEMENTS AS A STARTING POINT IN THE CREATIVE PROCESS OF HIS DISHES
Finally, even though this second menu at Patrizia was clearly traditional, I find it essential to discuss how Tommaso uses inspiration in the creative process of his dishes. For that reason, I dove into this topic and into the broader subject of creativity in the kitchen, which resulted in an essay that I decided to detach from this review. I plan to publish it separately under the title “The Inspiration in Non-Culinary Elements as a Starting Point in the Creative Process.” It serves as a necessary complement to understanding my thoughts before and after the meal, as well as understanding Patrizia’s cuisine and contextualizing it within the kitchens I know, with the relative experience I have.
In the essay, I first attempt to define the concept of creativity. Then, I review various dishes, menus, and chefs through examples, comparing some of them and trying to draw conclusions that could contribute to building a more solid opinion about creativity and the creative process—topics that are undeniably trendy these days.
I have always been somewhat skeptical of this type of creativity, even to the point of mocking it. However, after reflecting on it and revisiting the subject, I realized that many chefs I admire rely on storytelling and non-culinary inspiration as much, if not more, than those kitchens I don’t appreciate as much or struggle to understand.
I like to think that imagination and creativity have no limits. I support the idea of giving free rein to creativity, without restricting or stifling it. The idea of creating a menu based on fairy tales doesn’t seem so far-fetched or illogical to me because, in truth, fairy tales are full of gastronomic references, ingredients, recipes, and utensils. I believe these elements could easily be woven together into a cohesive menu. As always, the key lies in how it is executed, how the idea is enriched with other elements, and how the final dish is presented.
At Patrizia, we see a menu inspired by fairy tales but rooted in traditional and figurative cuisine—a combination I find quite unusual. This approach is typically reserved for abstract, techno-emotional cuisine or restaurants that employ more avant-garde culinary techniques. At least, it has been challenging for me to find similar examples.
Additionally, I find the dishes well-executed, successful, and effectively tied to their respective tales. Knowing the theme was fairy tales, it was relatively easy—visually—to identify the tale being represented just by looking at the dish, even without hearing the explanation or tasting it. Whether it was through the tableware (like the frog and the magic potion, the chef’s hat and stencil of the rat for Ratatouille), props (like the chef’s hat for Ratatouille, the wolf’s glove for The Wolf and the Seven Little Goats, or the Plensa-like head for mental health), the ingredients (such as golden spaghetti to mimic Rapunzel’s hair or venison for Bambi), or the plating and arrangement of the components (like the golden spaghetti, rosette modenese, and sbrisolona), most dishes were well-represented.
There were only two instances where the connection between the tale and the dish was harder to grasp. One was La Famiglia Pavironica, represented as a Carnival in Modena seen through the eyes of a bambino modenese. This difficulty was partly due to the abstract nature of the idea and its reliance on the diner’s familiarity with local traditions (if you don’t know the tradition, you can’t recognize it in the dish). The other was the Olaf dessert from Frozen, where the idea of melting took longer to register because it required the ice cream to melt and needed to be eaten to fully appreciate the cold-warm contrast.
That said, at no point did I feel the relationship between the tale and the dish was forced or tenuous.
Moreover, in the storytelling and dish explanations, Tommaso doesn’t just talk about fairy tales. Through them, he also aims to convey moral lessons, values, and a way of thinking. He seeks to highlight cultural traditions, provoke critical thinking, raise awareness, and share concerns and contemporary issues.
Through these tales, he addresses a wide range of topics, including drought, the climate crisis, global warming, and melting ice; hunger, poverty, and hardship; the loss of local recipes and traditions; life’s challenges such as labor exploitation, family traumas, and mental health; the impact of social media on aesthetics and image, where these often outweigh content and knowledge; the difference between reality and fiction, truth and lies; escapism and the reliance on imagination or substances; the malice of humanity; living life without resentment; true love; finding someone to guide us; and the importance of small gestures in making the world a better place.
At no point does the storytelling feel exaggerated or burdensome. In fact, compared to other restaurants like Aponiente, Lú Cocina y Alma, or Voro, which often present longer, heavier, and sometimes artificial narratives with questionable coherence, the storytelling at Patrizia is much more balanced and subtle.
That said, I would place Patrizia on the second tier of a hypothetical qualitative scale of creativity. It doesn’t reproduce existing recipes literally, but instead recreates them by attempting to leave a personal mark through changes in ingredients or techniques. However, it hasn’t yet reached a third tier, let alone a fourth, as I didn’t perceive a deep reflection on cuisine, a desire to create a completely new and unique repertoire without existing references, or any ambition to invent new techniques or concepts. I’m not sure if this is Tommaso’s goal, but I wouldn’t say that he currently has such aspirations.
Another positive aspect of the restaurant is that it doesn’t feel like a theme park. In this regard, I felt more of that sensation at Paul Bocuse (in 2020, after his death, under Christophe Muller) than at Patrizia.
Tommaso and the entire team at Patrizia are likable, generous, kind, open, and humane. They appear to have good intentions and ultimately just want to create an enjoyable experience for their guests, cook delicious food, and live happily. At no point does he mention any ambition to earn stars or reach a particular milestone. They seem to navigate everything naturally, without generating repulsion or rejection, and convey credibility despite all the sponsorships (Perrier, Tuorlo, Lavazza, etc.).
Just like Pau Navarro’s proposal at Clandestí, Patrizia’s concept can also be heavily criticized. However, I find both to be deeply personal, and since the food is fantastic and the chef demonstrates a solid culinary foundation, I don’t dislike them—quite the opposite, I applaud them.
Through Patrizia, and with the help of his team, Tommaso taught me about Modenese culinary culture and the entire Emilia region. He introduced me to some local products and producers, prepared delicious, well-executed dishes, and gave me an enjoyable and immersive experience in a magical, fantastical world that, like fairy tales, serves both to entertain and to convey a moral lesson.
At 25, 23, and 19 years old, they are very young—far too few springs to have worked with a wide variety of products, too few winters to have visited many producers, too few summers to have made mistakes and learned from them, and too few autumns to have eaten, read, and traveled extensively. When Bottura first opened Trattoria dal Campazzo, he certainly wasn’t serving his six tortellini in a row!
They had only been open for four months when I visited, and I already think they’ve shown they can do a fantastic job. Coming from kitchens like those of Massimo Bottura and Norbert Niederkofler and given his age, it’s impressive that Tommaso hasn’t set out to blindly recreate others’ dreams, copy seemingly successful formulas, or serve things like flambadou-cooked meats, liquid nitrogen barrels, or dry-aged fish without purpose. He hasn’t resorted to making elderflower or pino mugo preserves and non-alcoholic drinks or recklessly inoculating everything with Penicillium roqueforti.
Time, practice, life, economics, luck, and other factors will determine whether he transforms his ideas with greater solidity and maturity and whether his style evolves in one direction or another. Let’s give him the space to grow. For now, he has already managed to bring many ideas to the plate, offer a highly unique and personal restaurant (it’s hard to think of a similar one), infuse meaning into the concept, and maintain a minimum of coherence and good taste.
So, I tip my hat—chapeau!
I’m already curious to see what the next menu will be like. With confidence, he shared that it will focus on “the beauty of the Mediterranean.” I’m excited to follow his journey and eager to see where it all leads.
