Riportiamo parte dell’articolo firmato da Robert Draper apparso sul “The New York Times” online il 16 maggio 2017.
An Adriatic Feast on the Italian Coast
Trattoria Alla Laguna Vedova Raddi
Everything about this lagoon-side restaurant is a revelation, beginning with its locale, in the remote and relentlessly picturesque town of Marano Lagunare. Before even walking into the trattoria one early Sunday afternoon, I eyed the handsome Roman architecture along the town square and the fleet of fishing boats docked in the lagoon and determined that I would be back for an extended stay. Then I stepped inside, and the question became, “How soon?”
Vedova Raddi has been a family-run restaurant since its opening in 1938, and among its guests in the 1950s was Ernest Hemingway. Why it’s not famous today can be explained only by its obscure location, almost exactly halfway between Venice and Trieste several miles south of the autostrada. It is both elegant and unstuffy, and its fidelity to seafood — both from the Adriatic and the lagoon — is total. The proprietor, Decio Raddi, whose grandmother founded the place, showed me to my table overlooking the water, where I settled in for what I knew would be a full afternoon of maritime self-gratification.
The antipasto of breaded and broiled shellfish included a delectable smooth-shelled bivalve, fasolari, I had never encountered. It appeared as well among the pasta dishes, along with tiny shrimp from the Gulf of Trieste and the tiny Adriatic clam known as peverasse. But I elected to go with the linguine and canocchie, which I love for its chewy richness but tend to avoid when it’s not already extracted from its tenacious shell. This was the way to eat it, peeled and cut into small bites with homemade pasta and a sprinkling of parsley. As I perused the main courses, feelings toward the lagoon eel, Mr. Raddi put his hand on my shoulder and gently but firmly insisted that I select the Adriatic sole for its exceptional freshness. I did so. You’ve had sole before, and so have I — this was more like a creamy feather fluttering down my throat, leaving me in a kind of fugue state.
Credit: Andrea Wyner for The New York Times