Crossing Milan in its gloomy, wet state, we held newspapers over our heads, navigated around puddles, and shared brief moments with the few other souls braving the weather, surely due to some obliged lunch appointment. My partner nodded to a man whose downward-pointing nose steadily dripped raindrops on his cigar, while I felt for a woman whose water-marred overcoat and stockings professed a recent douse from a passing car.
After hearing some buzz about an old gem in Milan, I made a lunch reservation. Its location, a fair distance from where we were staying, paired with the persistent January rain, had us wondering: Is it worth it?
Nonetheless, determination fueled by hunger egged us across the city to Da Martino.
Upon arrival, I was reminded of the call I’d made to the restaurant a few days earlier. A gruff voice had informed me that Da Martino no longer sold pizza by the slice—an old identity, I assume, that the restaurant is in the process of shedding. The door handle, shaped like a cheese pizza, and the dim LED sign in the window—where 'Pizza al trancio' remains unlit, but 'dal 1950' still shines—served as subtle reminders of this transformation.
The menu, however, spoke clearly of freshness and of youth.
To start, we chose the crostini with rabbit pâté and the anchovies paired with chickpea fries and chervil oil (an herb akin to parsley, but with delicate hints of tarragon). The anchovy dish was bright and tangy, with a flavor profile that instinctively took me to the Basque country. Judging from the first dishes, the chef was clearly experimental, supposedly taking a strong start in a new direction.
For the primi, we shared the busiate pasta with kale pesto, almonds, and Fiore Sardo, a Sardinian cheese, alongside the tagliatelle alla Genovese finished with Parmigiano di Vacche Rosse. The dishes presented a courageous and skillfully paired, multi-regional Italian cuisine. By this point, my partner knew better than to try speaking—my eyes were closed, and my left hand circled in the air, declaring through my faux-Italian mannerisms that the food was simply too good for words.
For the final dish, we dared ourselves to go big or go home, pushing past the creeping fullness to order the cotoletta—a classic Milanese staple that seemed to grace nearly every neighboring table. We decided to share one, our eyes finally catching up to our stomachs. A tenderized veal cutlet, with the bone fried separately, was another dish, another stretch of time passing sans speech, but this time the bite was boastfully Milanese.
Overall, the restaurant presented itself as a casual yet charming spot, serving up good flavors with an adventurous flair. I’m curious to see how its new identity will develop, and I believe it will surely soon attract more gastronomic tourism to the area.
As for us, we will certainly be returning to see its transformation—rain or shine. Da Martino was definitely worth it.
