Our table was full with dishes like warm lamb's tongue and salumi, lamb brains, and lamb chops, sweetbreads galore, and goose liver ravioli. The grilled octopus was lovely, as was the pumpkin lune and hearty pappardelle with boar ragu. But for some very strange reason all I can seem to recall with clear sense is one dish: dessert. Figures, huh? The last dish of the night, Schiacciata Uva—a pillowy round of warmed brioche, with a delicate golden surface studded with the season's concord grapes. A few grapes had burst through the taut skin, staining the interior a luxuriously purple hue. On the side, there was vanilla gelato strewn with honey for a mellow sweetness. Simple and uncomplicated.
With four forks simultaneously diving into the dish, the brioche was devoured in seconds. We clearly should have ordered five. One for each of the four of us, and then a fifth to share.