fuck capitalization.

because, really, i’m too tired after a night of climbing and am just recording this menu for memory’s sake.

beretta, mission district, san francisco, ca.

warm marinated cerignola olives with citrus
gnocchi with fresh porcini and guanciale
a bunch of pizzette:
+ margherita with burrata
+ prosciutto di parma, tomato, arugula & mozzarella
+ radicchio, escarole, robiola & pancetta tesa
+ baccala’, potato, panna, onions & capers
vanilla gelato affogato with barolo
nuestra paloma (tequila, elderflower, cointreau, grapefruit, bitters)

i glanced at the menu.

“this is my new favorite restaurant ever,” i declared.
“but you haven’t even tried it yet!”

i suppose this suggests something about the selection of food at beretta. it is definitely a place to go with a group of friends to indulge in a pizza each and a generous array of antipasti, because you will want to try everything. i surely plan to do so in the next… oh… month. fortnight. week.

i think there was some mention of a cocktail menu designed by someone from bourbon and branch, a wine list selected by someone from delfina, and pizzas devised by some other name-brand character, but who cares? my cocktail was impeccable, the olives were warm and buttery, the gnocchi was transcendental, and the pizzas left me adrift upon thin-crusted bliss, each of them flavorful and unique. the fact that they are open until 1 am (did you hear that, san francisco? NIGHT LIFE) made up for the service, or lack thereof.

i apologize for lackluster descriptions, but i think i’ve discovered happiness. find me at beretta if you want to discuss it.

(a hearty shout goes out to david giusti for suggesting this restaurant. you are also my new best friend.)