I will put up with a lot for good pasta. I’ve deciphered handwritten directions that led me down little Roman alleyways, forged questionable friendships to access members-only Italian social clubs, and settled for 10pm reservations at the likes of Lilia, Felix, and Bestia. For the pasta at Lillo? I’ll forgo all the familiar comforts of city dining (credit cards, personal space, alcohol) anytime you ask me. I’m willing to bet that you will too.
This seven-table restaurant no bigger than a walk-in closet is located in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn inside a former coffee shop. Passing by on the street, you would hardly notice the place. There’s no millennial-bait neon sign or succulent-laden planters in the front window. Once you make it inside, there won’t be a host to seat you. You simply sit down as soon as the last table gets up. “Lillo” Remia is the Rome-born owner; he will also most likely be your server, and if you’re lucky, your new best friend.
The offerings run the gamut from pastas like cacio e pepe and cannelloni to affogato and paninis. The menu is scrawled onto paper shopping bags and picnic plates charmingly taped to the side of the wall. Spotting the words, “ravioli ai porcini,” on a white Dixie plate was probably the moment I fell in love. There is zero ambiance here, just pure soul.
Plates will pile up next to you. Don’t panic. Lillo isn’t in the weeds — this is his modus operandi. Service is not on New York time (aka right this second). But you’ll notice your fellow diners quietly adjusting to his old world rhythm.
Start with the carciofi aka grilled artichokes and basil — a simple dish you’ve probably had a million times. They’re not the deep-fried variety often associated often with Rome, these are lightly pan-fried and ooze with garlic and olive oil, with a smoky golden char. Also impressive are mezzaluna-shaped raviolis simply filled with ricotta and spinach, atop a puddle of red sauce. A word here about the red sauce — this one tastes like it’s been cooking all day on some grandmother’s stove. This is once-in-a-New-York-lifetime red sauce. Luckily, Lillo gives you a basket of bread to sop up every last bite (and you’ll want to). The ravioli tastes painstakingly handmade, light, and perfectly al dente.
Also: the meatballs. Holy shit, the meatballs. Effortlessly light, you’ll fork three into your mouth before Lillo can even take the last plate away. Tender and perfectly seasoned — they’re aspirational meatballs.
I haven’t gotten around to trying dessert just yet, but since the owner/chef was a baker in Rome, you’ll want to try his pastry creations for sure, and the stellar Italian coffee.
While Lillo won’t be for everyone, or for every occasion (some nights you just really need that glass of wine), head here when you feel your soul waning, your energy fading, your patience wearing thin. Let this little hole in the wall restore your love of restaurants.
Polpettine en sugo