How I DIDN'T Get Into The # 1 Restaurant In The World

In 2015, I packed up my oversized camera bag and lugged my way over to Europe for the second time as a solo traveler. This time I was prepared with all the gear imaginable after making some amateur mistakes on my previous trip. No more would I leave things up to chance, I wanted to control the narrative…perhaps a little too much. I had it all planned out. Making stops in England, Ireland, Portugal, Austria, and Italy. Finally, it would reach it’s climax once I arrived in Modena, Italy. 

Prior to my departure, I registered on the waiting list for the #2 restaurant at the time, Osteria Francescana. This food mecca in Modena, Italy has since been awarded the #1 restaurant for the second time in 3 years.

Despite it’s 3 michelin stars, this was right before it’s meteoric rise to fame. Before Chefs Table and well before Masters of None. I had the right level of hubris and youthful ignorance to believe I would get a seat at this sanctuary of culinary brilliance.

To enhance my luck I picked a random Thursday in early October. Not exactly peak tourist time. I also joined their waiting list four months in advance. Well before I even bought my plane ticket. Surely I’d get a call eventually, right?!

Equipped with my camera gear and a checklist of food recommendations I made my way over to Europe. Filled with nervous excitement, but prepared for the wonders that waited for me.

Bologna, Italy

Fast forward a few weeks. And by late September, I was meandering through Italy by way of train; stopping in Milano, Cinque Terre, Firenze, and Roma. But the crescendo of my trip was to be expected after I arrived in Bologna. I spent a few days in this wonderful food city. Eating so much Tortellini in Brodo that I can only imagine I must have been sweating soup broth in the late summer heat. Delicious as it was, it was all about what was waiting for me in the neighboring city of Modena. 

The day was upon me. I shot out of bed in the morning like a cannon. My hopeful reservations not until 12:30, but you never know with Italian trains. So I figured I would air on the side of caution and arrive early. 

Outside my bed and breakfast, the skies looked menacing like witches brew. But the nasty weather wasn’t going to ruin what I had planned for months. Umbrella in hand with camera around my neck, I departed Bologna on my way to Modena.

Modena is a beautiful little city in the heart of Italy’s most revered food region; Emilia-Romagna. Famous for it’s sport cars and balsamic vinegar. More on that later. 

On the train I began to daydream of the incredibly intricate dishes found at Osteria Francescana. Like there 5 ages of Parmigiano-Reggiano an apparently sublime dish, plated with different textures and temperatures of the famed cheese.
Finally coming to, I had to stop myself from licking the window. I peer out through droplets of rain as Modena’s train station comes into view. Giddy with anticipation, I made a b-line straight from the train station over to the restaurant.

I arrive several minutes early. And good thing I did, because the restaurant was not exactly easy to find. Inconspicuously located on a small street in Modena’s ornate city center. Had there not been a gold plaque elegantly engraved with the words “Osteria Francescana,” I would have assumed it was just your average upscale Mondenese apartment building. 

Osteria Francescana

I stand before the entrance. The ominous gray door towers over me like the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Intimidating to say the least.
The door is heavy and slowly creaks open. Shadowy figures illuminate before my eyes. Suddenly I’m greeted by big smiles and lovely Italian voices. The moment I’ve been waiting for…

“Parli Italiano?” Asks the hostess. 

 “Si, parlo un poco.” - I reply.

Immediately sensing my American accident, the hostess switches to English despite my intentions to speak Italian. 

The hostess asks for my name while another attentive staff member takes my coat.

She looks down at her list and doesn’t see any “Eric party of one.” 

I say, “well I was on the waiting list for months but never received a call. I thought maybe there’s a chance you could fit me in?” 

“No, I’m afraid not, we have no cancellations today” - she explains. 

“But I’m coming all the way from New York to film your restaurant” - I reply

“No, I’m sorry it’s not possible sir.” 

“It’s also my birthday!” 

Niente. Nothing worked. I tried everything.

As my failed attempts grew in number, so did the staff. Crowding the lobby wondering who is this strange man from New York. The staff let me down easy. Apologizing incessantly. 

My jacket returned to me as I’m slowly ushered out the door. Apologies ringing past me but their words are deafening. The door is promptly shut behind me.

It starts to pour again, and I’m completely alone on this little Italian street thousands of miles from home. It was like something out of a movie. More like Coen Brothers than Spielberg seeing as how this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending. Or so I thought…

Feeling pretty defeated, I walk hopelessly down the cobblestone street. Turning the first corner I see looking for safe haven from the rain. I come across a man standing under an awning in front of a restaurant called Ristorante L’Incontro. 

Which means “the meeting.” A fitting name I must say. The man pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and looks at me and my rain soaked camera and says “are you hungry?” I reply; “yes, I’m starving!”

I later learn he is the owner of this restaurant. I explain to him my failed attempts to dine at Francescana. And the look on his face…like he was my guardian angel; destined to improve my day. He would stop at nothing to change my misfortune. 

As I’m seated, I notice I am the only customer. The full wait staff attentive to me. Even the chef comes out to greet me with excitement. As if he was Caravaggio, commissioned by the church to produce a work of art of godly proportions. Challenged to blow my mind after hearing of my misfortune.

Pouring me a glass of local wine, the waiter asks if he could make some suggestions off the menu. Ensuring that my experience is the best it can be. 

Tortellini in Brodo

For the first course I’m served a pipping hot bowl of tortellini in brodo. As soon as the broth hits my tongue my worries begin to melt away. It’s a soul warming elixir. The best I had in Italy! I can still remember how it tasted to this day. 

Tagliata all’aceto balsamico

Then it was on to the second course. Tagliata all’aceto balsamico. Sliced steak in a red wine, balsamic vinegar reduction served with roasted potatoes.

Not the prettiest of dishes. In what I can only describe looked like zombie guts. Something you’d expect to find on set of The Walking Dead. It didn’t rival a gorgeous plated entree like I could expect at Francescana. But food doesn’t need to be a beauty contest. What matters most is the taste. And wow, was this dish sublime. 

The velvety concoction is made with authentic balsamic vinegar or aceto balsamico. More on that in just a moment. 

Torta al cioccolato con mascarpone

For dessert I order a chocolate cake with mascarpone custard. A decadent treat to finish off an incredible meal. 

After dessert I connect to the restaurant’s WiFi. As I swipe down to refresh my email, up pops a message from Marcello. Confirming our interview at Acetaia di Giorgio. A family home producing traditional aceto balsamico. One of the very best in Modena. All of a sudden this day went from bad to great, to amazing!

Acetaia di Giorgio

I had been back and forth with Marcello for weeks to see if I could stop by to sample and learn about the family process of making authentic aceto balsamico. Marcello is the son-in-law of Giorgio the owner. He informed me that although Giorgio and his wife would not be home, he however would be thrilled to step in to speak on their behalf. Marcello had been groomed for many years, studying the delicious dark arts. 

With a full stomach and a happy face, I had a new lease on life. I hop in a cab over to Acetaia di Giorgio. 

Marcello from Acetaia di Giorgio

I arrive at the family home. I’m greeted warmly by Marcello as he takes me upstairs to the acetaia; the attic where the aceto balsamico is aged. About a dozen batteries fill up the perimeter of the room. These barrels maturing for a minimum of 12 years. Some as old as 100 years. It’s a small operation turning out razor sharp controlled product to ensure of it’s outstanding quality. 

Marcello proceeds to explain the process of making aceto balsamico. A fascinating technique that takes a lot of patience and craftsmanship. Unlike winemaking that require a stable climate underground; the maturing process of aceto balsamico actually benefits from fluctuating temperatures between the seasons. Heat promotes fermentation, and the cold allows for rest and maturation. As it ages, the moisture evaporates, further thickening the vinegar and concentrating the complex flavors.

The Acetaia (attic) where the aceto balsamico is made

This spellbinding syrup is so revered in Modena that it’s protected by the Italian government. Confirmed by a D.O.P marking on the bottle: Or “Denominazione di Origine Protetta.” Aceto Balsamico from Modena is lightyears above the fake crap you get in your everyday supermarket back home. Once you go authentic, you’ll never go back. 

Sampling the real aceto balsamico from Modena

Marcello had me sample the various ages and flavors. All with a unique taste. It depends on how long it’s been maturing and what type of wood the barrel is made of.

I’m blown away after each sample. One after the next. Juniper, Chestnut, Oak, and Cherry. Aged 12 years, 25 years, and one that’s been aged for over one hundred years!

Many different ages and flavors of aceto balsamico

I get all my shots in. And the footage looks great! As a sign of gratitude, Marcello gifts me one of the family’s most prized product. An aged aceto balsamic called “Carlotta 1986.” Started at the birth of Giorgio’s daughter. Aged almost 30 years with a wonderful cherry flavor. I buy a few bottles for my family back home as Christmas was looming. 

Special reserve, Carlotta 1986

This was an incredible day. I was treated like family at both the restaurant and at the Acetaia. A truly unique Italian experience. Looking back I am glad that I didn’t manage to get a seat at Osteria Francescana. For I wouldn’t have learned a valuable life lesson. As the cliche’ goes; when one door closes, another opens.

It’s a story about disappointment and good fortune in the end. You never know where life will lead you, leave yourself open to new experiences and you will find life to be that much more fulfilling.

That’s my travel story. Thanks for reading!