If you’re looking for a quiet, boring meal where no one talks to you, go to a chain restaurant. But if you want an adventure where your waiter might challenge you to an arm-wrestling match after you finish your osso buco, head to The Kettlebridge. Bring cash, because the ancient till sometimes cries when you present a credit card.
Fair warning: you will likely leave twenty minutes later than planned, slightly drunker, and with a doggy bag full of tiramisu. You will also be carrying a little bit of that strange, savory magic with you. It’s the kind of place that makes you believe in culinary miracles—or at least in the power of a really, really good garlic bread. Now go. The nonna (or her ghost) is waiting.
