Like all chefs, Mattia works on new dishes. The new menu is the highlight of the kitchen—the moment when research and creativity come together to be brought to life and shared with the public. Mattia, however, breathes new life into familiar dishes, revisiting his ideas and managing to improve upon them. This reflects the maturity of one of the youngest rising stars of Italian haute cuisine.
Perhaps it’s the blue of her eyes that blends so perfectly with the azure surface of the sea at Portofino. The thought of predestination ripples through our minds and struggles to be carried away by the current of other thoughts. What is a coincidence if not a sign stronger than the rest? Something that, even if only for an instant, makes time stand still. If we anagram “Pecis,” we get “pesci” (fish). That’s right. What we’re looking for isn’t so much an explanation, but rather the energy to keep seeing these signs that cry out beyond, as Montale also said, a Ligurian from a Liguria that still hid its mystery among the small gulfs.
Mattia Pecis: A “Local” Chef and His Hometown
Mattia has become a local—which is diametrically different from becoming independent. Call the mayor and grant him honorary citizenship. Let’s not get carried away. Mattia holds on tightly to his residence in Bergamo. Portofino, anyway, is his home. Mattia isn’t the kind of chef who just meets with his suppliers—he lives among them.
He spends his days there and shapes his projects alongside them, like one of Fassa Bortolo’s best chefs, spending just enough time away from the kitchen to make the time he’s forced to spend there count.
Her adoration for trombetta zucchini has already become a meme. Her description of the golden sheen on a dolphinfish sounds like a museum docent in raptures before a Klimt painting.The look on her face when she shows us a photo of an eight-kilogram sea bass hanging in the aging room. You should see it. She goes fishing with Stefano and Fabio, and she goes harvesting with Federica and Fabio. The varieties of tomatoes she showed us, pulling open the drawers: a Pantone-worthy spectacle.
This year, he also discovered the Cabannina, a native breed of cow that, through centuries of selective breeding, has learned to climb, adapt to meadows and rocky terrain, go places even a shepherd wouldn’t dare to go, and eat forage that no other cow would touch. If someone told us it could swim, we’d probably believe it.
When we first met him, he was the boy with the backpack; now he shares his backpack with others. It’s almost impossible to forget what you’ve learned once you’ve shared it right away, becoming a witness. To know is to love; to teach is to love even more.
The Seating Arrangement
Valentina, the maître d’, leads with the artistry of a smile. She’s realized that with us, she can break the routine and showcase her professionalism at its finest. It’s a pleasure to see her come and go to the table; sometimes I think it wouldn’t be such a big deal if a waiter and/or dining room manager sat down for a moment to chat.
Getting to Portofino in the summer is never easy—there are traffic jams, the road is narrow, and there’s a crowd of people pinning their hopes on scrolling images. And their world comes crashing down if those images don’t match reality exactly. Almost always, what they see before them is better; almost always, there’s something more. Reality tourists with the FOMO gene. They’re great at checking off their lists, terrible at making memories. Mattia even puts himself at their service. Who knows if he infects them with his eyes full of questions, if he manages to awaken them with the waves of his dishes. It happened to us.
Dishes, Between Memory and the Future
The tribute to Carlo Cracco is ever-present. It has never been missing. We mentioned that Mattia has become rooted in his heritage rather than independent. Even his gratitude is a sign of acquired maturity, of a relationship in which listening is an integral part of action and creation. The caramelized Russian salad is the quintessential Cracco creation; it is the icon on the display of flavor. Over time, like all apps, it delivers an improved version. Far be it from us to say it fixes bugs, yet we believe this year’s version is the most successful Ligurian iteration. The addition of salted chinotto is the bitter twist that makes your tongue tingle. Even the sweetness benefits, dancing in harmony rather than taking center stage alone.
Mattia, like all chefs, works on new dishes. The new menu is the highlight of the kitchen—the moment when research and creativity come to life and are shared with the public. This is certainly true; you see it in all great fine-dining restaurants. It’s an unwritten tradition that’s practically ingrained in every kitchen. Mattia, however, breathes new life into familiar dishes, revisiting his ideas and managing to improve them. In our case, this happened with both the Cappon Magro and L’orto. These are two dishes that Mattia has been offering in updated versions for years, driven by a deep-seated dissatisfaction—a sign that those who settle for less never truly enjoy themselves. The first, according to the chef, is his definitive version.
The base is a shellfish ragù (razor clams, razor-shell clams, mussels, and clams) seasoned with parsley oil and a splash of vinegar, reminiscent of salsa verde. A foam made from a reduced hake bone stock with capers and anchovies represents the sea filling the plate. A “life preserver” of steamed hake and shrimp stands out on the surface. Nasturtium leaves infuse the dish with tangy notes. A dish that made us shout “Land ho!”, because it arrived in our sensory harbors like something long-awaited, like a surprise.
Steaming didn’t overcook the fish, causing it to lose its texture in water that wasn’t its own. The shellfish ragù was a treasure with every spoonful. The vegetable garden strikes again—a new version featuring currants instead of carrots and squash, along with the “usual” medley of seasonal vegetables, sourced from the garden of the Fescion Farmers, which exudes freshness and balsamic notes. A dish that celebrates a collaboration, a tribute to friends who, somehow, walk the same path as I do. Will there be a vegetable garden next year? We think so, and that’s why we’re going out on a limb to say it would make a perfect dessert—a splendid finale that doesn’t need to worry about sweetness, an ideal and distinctive way to end the meal.
Now we come to the most precipitous dish, the one that reveals Mattia’s rough edges—if not outright precipices. The chinotto rice is a vertical ascent into the world of citrus, in three steps: oxidation, salting, and drying. Citrus fruits evoke summer, heat, and freshness. The dark side of citrus is the shortness of breath it causes, like when you’re gasping for air, like when you feel as if you’re hanging. The lemon remains in the incubation chamber for six months; it transforms, turns black, and takes on oxidized and sweet notes.
The pasta is arranged on the bottom of the plate. The white rice is tossed with lemon butter, made by combining butter with salted lemon caramelized with limoncello, lemon juice, and aromatic herbs. On top, dried chinotto powder—like vanilla—basil leaves, and the umami of yellowtail bottarga. A culinary ascent that leaves its mark, a hope to see other peaks like these. Pizza is an idea inspired by the marinara pizza at Confine, one of Italy’s best pizzerias. Mattia thought that chewing on a slice of yellowtail cooked skin-side down might somehow evoke the ritual of so many casual evenings. The act of picking it up with your hands is already a way of breaking the fourth wall,the one that separates the customer from the chef.
After all, we’re invited to follow his example—when, in a fit of hunger, together with his team, once service is over, he indulges himself fully, because the kitchen is his. Or like when he picks up the main protein and places it on the plate, gently, touching with his own hands what will captivate our senses. Here he’s telling us, “You do it.” Use your own hands. Take that slice of yellowtail and dip it generously into the marinara sauce I’ve prepared, made with roasted tomatoes, chimichurri, oregano, and basil oil. Wipe your mouth—no, not with a napkin, but with the bouquet of fresh salad greens and aromatic herbs, sprinkled with hay and elderflower.
Portofino is hard to get to. But for some reason, it’s easy to come back.
Contact
Cracco Portofino Restaurant
Molo Umberto I, Portofino, Genoa
Tel. 01851636026
