No products in the cart.
The Story of My Life
It’s the story of my family’s restaurant: “Amor gignit amorem” – Ovid, a beloved poet and philosopher from Sulmona
Latin for “Love generates love.”
The rich and rugged land of Abruzzo, where I was born and raised, infuses every aspect of my life. My nonno’s tomatoes and eggplants whispered to me about seasonality, patience, the value of sunshine, and the importance of rain. My family’s constant labor at Ristorante Clemente, the restaurant started by my great-grandfather, showed me that rare form of devotion (often at all costs) that permeates true service. My hometown, Sulmona, taught me about community care, the gifts of localism, and the value (both psychologically and nutritionally) of roots. The shepherds on the wild mountains surrounding my town spoke of ancient, quiet ways—methods, paths, resilience, and a deep connection to the land. The food I cook today carries the taste of all these ingredients, but one overall: love.
My food is the result of the place where I come from and my family’s history. I grew up in the kitchen because my family has run a restaurant since WWII—I am a fourth-generation chef. I’ve always been surrounded by the best local ingredients, which is why produce is so important to me. The close relationship we maintained with farmers and producers is ingrained in my memories, and I try to keep that connection in my work every day. Where food comes from is very important to me, and I always respect seasonality and sustainability in my menus. I love to exalt the produce I use with minimal intervention; simplicity is key, and I enjoy putting together a few ingredients with beautiful techniques. My Italian roots are very strong, but over the past 20 years, I’ve traveled a lot and absorbed different styles of cooking that I incorporate into my work.
My story is sometimes complicated. I wish I could say I was lucky to grow up surrounded by the best food, but my childhood was also a bit sad. My family devoted itself completely to the legacy of our restaurant, and we weren’t always the priority. Running a family restaurant for more than eight decades requires immense commitment, and every member of my father’s family was deeply invested. There was no “life” outside the restaurant—it was life. We identified ourselves with the restaurant.
In the beginning, it was hard. But then I realized that these qualities—commitment, dedication—are very hard to find in today’s world. The consistency, the unwavering commitment, no matter what, is what has made our restaurant probably the oldest in my hometown and still a guarantee of quality and dedication. It gets better every year because of the love my father has for food and the community.
My great-grandfather decided to open a Cantina after World War II, and my nonno, after he married my nonna, transformed it into a trattoria. She was a wonderful cook, so she took over running the kitchen. At that time, kitchens were mostly run by women—there was no ego in the environment, no competition, just the pleasure of feeding people.
Concettina, Anna, Marietta di Pratola—these are just a few names I remember. Concettina from Pacentro stands out vividly. She was always dressed in black, with her hair tightly pulled back. She was always tense from laboring under the sun as a Contadina, growing food for her family. I was fascinated by her. Every day, someone from the family would go to Pacentro, the small town where she lived, to pick her up and bring her to work. She never learned how to drive, like my nonna. It wasn’t common for women to drive at the time.
The women were truly running the show, and I loved that. My father started working in the kitchen when he was very young, and he was the only man. He still is, even after 45 years.
My nonno was a norcino, a master of making salami and prosciutto for the restaurant. When he was young, he would go with my great-grandfather to make the salami, and people would call them to come and do all the process. Nonno Attilio learned the craft, and when the restaurant opened, he was providing all kinds of salami and prosciutto. He also made wine.
It was a glorious time for our family and a great period for Italy too—economically, things were looking up. We ended up with Ristorante Clemente, Ristorante Don Rodrigo, and Bar Attilio. Sulmona was an incredible little town with so much to offer, and people had money to spend on weddings and dining out, so the restaurants were always busy.
Our family became well-known in the region, but the glory didn’t last long. Times changed. The euro came, many factories began to close, the crisis hit, and with other personal problems, we closed the bar and Don Rodrigo. Ristorante Clemente remained the only one, more manageable.
Another incredible thing about our family business is that sometimes the staff stayed with us for 40 years. This is what made the difference between a place where people come and go and a place where people stay and put all of themselves into the project. I remember one of the waitresses who worked with us for 40 years, mainly with my nonna. Now, Gianfranco, whom we call Giangi, has been with my father’s side for just as long. He is part of the restaurant.
After school, I always went to the restaurant to have lunch. To my young eyes, the restaurant was always a fun place. I met so many curious people—artists, teachers. We had people who would come every day, lonely people or those without families. Most of the time, they couldn’t pay, but there was always food on our table for everyone. This is something I carry with me every day of my life—generosity. In many years of operation, we always fed people who couldn’t afford to pay, and we did it with joy.
My father has never been obsessed with money; he always did things from the heart (though he always says it’s for the glory).
So, I have this double feeling toward our restaurant: I love it, and I hate it. I love it because it’s my life, it’s where I come from, it’s my legacy, and it taught me a lot. I hated it because it took my father away from me.
But the past is the past, and we learn and become stronger. Today, I’ve found my own way to do hospitality, bringing inside me the legacy of my family and sharing it with the entire world.
Our restaurant is still running—my father in the kitchen and Isabella (my step-mother) front of house. Together, they’ve brought the restaurant to another level. This year we received a very well-known accolade – le Chiocciole di Osterie d’Italia, a recognition of my family’s commitment to the slow food movement.
I’ve learned something in the past that really stuck with me forever: Without roots, we can’t fly. For me, my roots are very important.
Sign up to the interest list
Keep up to date with the latest tours, events and recipes.
Sign up to the interest list
Keep up to date with the latest tours, events and recipes.