Enoteca Pinchiorri
Enoteca Pinchiorri is such a restaurant where guests can easily discern that it should be rated with three Michelin stars. Its hallmark lies in the subtle opulence and solemn atmosphere, within which there exists a sense of order, as well as the underlying notion that every pleasure has its price.
This establishment is one of the rare cases where the maître d’/head steward’s reputation eclipses that of the chef. The Michelin Guide's praise starts with the highest compliments for the maître d’, followed by a brief mention of Chef Riccardo Monco. The maître d’, Alessandro Tomberli, who has been working there for thirty years, is hailed by Michelin inspectors as "worth the trip just for the service, one of Italy’s finest restaurant managers who directs a perfect waltz." Regrettably, I only caught a glimpse of him in the corridor after my meal, perhaps he has taken a step back or now only serves in private rooms for important guests. The main hall is served by a team of young male waiters he has trained, similar in height, hairstyle, appearance, and uniform, with graceful serving motions, like a dance troupe.
The restaurant is renowned worldwide for its wine cellar of over 100,000 bottles, which unfortunately holds little allure for a non-drinker like me. Yet, the meticulousness in managing their beverages is palpable, evidenced by an entire thick menu dedicated to mineral waters, offering a multitude of choices based on region, type, and pH value at 20 degrees Celsius. The Acqua Plose I drank there was the best hot water I've ever had, elegantly presented in a white porcelain teapot kept warm on a candle-lit glass cover (p16 far left), consistently warm but never scalding, and astonishingly smooth and gentle on the palate. Especially noteworthy is when ordering sparkling water, one must choose a brand, but when ordering hot water, no choice is needed, presumably because they've tested and decided this is the optimal way to serve it. Such attention to service detail is, of course, reflected in the bill, with a bottle of sparkling water and a pot of hot water costing 70 euros.
The same attention to detail is evident in their birthday rituals. The service detail for celebrating a guest's birthday is quite intricate. As the cake cart enters, the lights dim gradually, creating a soft transition instead of going abruptly dark. The background music also shifts to the birthday tune in a gentle manner. After inviting guests to blow out the candles, the waiter takes the cake away to plate and then presents it again on a heart-shaped dish. Naturally, this is also reflected in the bill, with a fist-sized birthday cake costing an additional 400 RMB.
Here, one realizes that all good things have their price, payable by currency. Other high-end restaurants rarely give me this impression, as they do not charge for each service, especially domestic ones in my country, which often reach new heights in giving away services to please the customer.
Additionally, several other details are worth mentioning. EP is indeed a restaurant rich in details:
The lighting system, for instance, resembles stage spotlights, casting precise illumination. The plates are lit, but the overall atmosphere remains dim and hazy.
The music, always an unobtrusive and elegant concerto, barely noticeable as it drifts faintly through the air, with substantial breaks between pieces.
The kitchen, not open but visible through frosted glass in the entrance hall, offers glimpses of silhouettes.
The textures and styles are uniformly wooden and silver. Large flower vases on the tables are made of silver, as are ice buckets, which might be common, but even the table sweepers are silver.
The main hall is divided into two areas: a more dimly lit, enclosed central hall with a more vintage opulent decor, and an adjacent open side hall that is brighter and more modern. The central hall has six tables arranged in a circle around the centerpiece.
That day, I opted for à la carte. Compared to the detailed service environment, the meals were less impressive, adhering to Michelin standards but interspersed with elements of molecular gastronomy, which seemed somewhat out of place. However, reassuringly, the dishes were not about showcasing creativity or talent, so while not astonishing, they were also not unpalatable, at times simply and rustically delicious.
The pre-meal snacks were savory vegetable crisps with three small bites, from left to right: tomato, pumpkin, potato. The tomato was spherified, tasting of tomato without the texture, akin to jelly. The pumpkin was pickled in lemon juice, tangy and paired with pumpkin seeds, quite refreshing. The potato was a small ball, chewy on the outside with a soft filling, reminiscent of fermented bread with a cheesy center, dyed black.
The first course was diced raw fish and raw roe, with spherified garnish seasonings frozen into small orbs, topped with jelly—nothing special, but the plating was beautiful.
The second course was small rice cakes, actually potato balls, perhaps with some glutinous rice but lacking chewiness, quite soft, served with equally soft and tender beef sausage balls, drizzled with a saffron, smoked herring, and beef mixed sauce—nicely seasoned.
The third course was oven-roasted veal, prepared tableside with a smoky aroma. A simple, brash dish, the veal was large and thick, crispy on the outside, tender inside, paired with white radish. The portion was so generous it was overwhelming.
The fourth course was crispy skin roast suckling pig, tasting just like the Cantonese roast suckling pig.
The fifth course was caramel soufflé, the restaurant's signature dessert, with a hot, soft egg and liquor sauce, a caramelized surface paired with ice cream—a comforting and joyful treat, evoking the feeling of winter.
The post-meal dessert cart offered chocolates, pastries, macarons, and more to choose from.
In summary, though I didn't converse with the legendary best restaurant manager, I felt that finely honed detail in every subtle aspect, a finesse almost indifferent to the return. That's why I described EP as subtly opulent and solemn—the subtlety suggests that the restaurant doesn't have an inherently splendid and stately "foundation," but it strives to maintain that sense of grandeur and solemnity within its limited resources, modest space, and without lavish decorative investment. It doesn't have the advantage of a grand estate, but it's well-maintained, always with the dignity of a three-star Michelin, subtly opulent and solemn, indistinctly present amidst the haze.
This is a neat restaurant that leaves one feeling calm with a touch of joy after dining. I don't consider it grand or extremely charming, but recommending such a restaurant is suitable and unquestionable. It doesn't require a broad dining experience to recognize its merit, nor does it embody complex philosophical or sustainable ideals. Its honors are uncontroversial. It is a typical, proper Michelin three-star, the only one in Florence.Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.
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