People often say that some places are not discovered by accident. Frasca is one of them.
A single step onto Florence Street is enough to sense something stirring behind those discreet windows, like a breath carried from elsewhere. You don’t yet know what it is, but you feel it: a story of Italy. A true one.

The door opens, and clarity settles in.
Behind Alessia Caicco’s radiant smile: soft light, clean lines, reassuring textures. Nothing shouts. Nothing insists. Frasca doesn’t try to seduce; it invites. It offers that rare impression that beauty here is born from calm, from intention, from coherence. A house that knows exactly what it does, and why.

Every morning, the pasta workshop awakens. You see the hands. The gestures. The flour floating like fine snow. The dough stretching, flattening, breathing.
And you understand that Italy begins right here: in the repetition of a movement, in respect for a raw material that must never be betrayed.

Mortadella, olive purée and grissini; Winter vegetables with chickpea hummus; Fried calamari with lemon-herb yoghurt; Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe or Rigatoni al ragù di vitello… Frasca’s cuisine avoids detours: it reveals clear, honest flavours. A kitchen that whispers, that speaks softly—but always true.

Then comes the wine, the stage of Thomas Lambotte.
Bottles you do not encounter by chance, chosen like friends: with intuition, affinity, and high standards. Wines crafted back in Italy by Eric Lecuyer and carried here by Sébastien Samoye. Living cuvées, sometimes a little wild, always sincere. Natural estates, artisans who work the earth as others work dough: with hands, with heart, with time.

Here, you taste, you talk, you share, you linger. Matteo Brancaleoni sings L’Italiano. The décor never tries to steal the scene. It frames. It breathes. It lets Italy move between the tables: in a whisper, a scent, a plate where pasta, sunlight and substance come together to tell one simple story: the story of flavour.

Frasca is not an Italian restaurant.
It is a pause, a breath, a way of saying that tradition can be modern, that simplicity can be noble, and that indulgence can be a delicate art.
A house you return to as you return to someone you love: because there is always something true there — something that stays.

LD