La Locanda da Vito is situated just outside the charming centro storico of Cisternino, Puglia, in a less charming, dimly lit street. The restaurant itself was modest but glowed gently in the neighborhood.
Upon arrival in the evening, I noticed that the tables were dressed in the casualness of the countryside: glasses indistinguishable for water and wine, weathered ceramic plates, likely made just a few miles away. There may have been a wine list…If so, I never saw it. We ordered carafes of the house red, of which we poured generously throughout the meal. The waitress asked us to trust her with our order. Trust is important when the house specialty is animal innards.
The meal started with fried zucchini flowers and lamb meatballs, a few bites that relaxed and comforted the palate before the next dishes.
Then came the fave purée with roasted chicory, a table favorite and regional staple. We dressed it ourselves with the bottle of olive oil already on the table, inherently spicy and eyebrow-raising as is typical of the area. The dish, like all the others that followed, was served convivially, with plates passed around and spoons returning for second helpings without hesitation.
Next came the trippa, prepared in the traditional Pugliese style with tomato, celery, carrot and onion. I sometimes like to imagine that trippa is a kind of litmus test for the kitchen. When done poorly, its inedible. When done well, it's delicious. And La Locanda da Vito’s trippa was nothing short of delicious.
We then dined on the braciole al sugo, a dish whose flavors summoned feelings of home – or at least, a version of home I might have known with an Italian nonna. It was donkey meat, braised long and slow, bone-in, with peeled tomatoes, garlic and all the familiar fixings. Though donkey meat is notoriously tough, here it had been coaxed into a rare tenderness.
The last course was the quinto quarto, the lamb innards, cut, cooked and placed in identical pieces on the plate. Every bit was a surprise, masked flavors and textures revealing themselves with each bite. My first bite was of heart, and the second, kidney, on which I added a couple of drops of lemon, a notable flavor enhancer for kidney. And the last bite unveiled itself as my favorite innard of all: sweetbreads, known here in dialect as gnummaredd.
As I chewed the sweetbreads, I felt that I wanted to linger in the moment a bit more. With my heart warmed by the house red, and my stomach full of food that felt more like home than a restaurant, I attempted to stifle my childlike fondness for the meal, a fondness I believe rare in today’s world.
