Final Days in Milan
As our time in Italy came to a close, we found ourselves soaking in the soul of Milan the only way we know how—through taste, texture, and a touch of something local.
Sequence of Events
Flight to Heathrow
London
Milan
Lago Maggiore
Rest in Milano
Torino
Final Days in Milan
Nap time in Heathrow
Home
Tucked into a cozy corner of Milan’s Barona neighborhood, Old Fox Pub rescued us from the soggy rain and felt like stepping into a sepia-toned postcard. With its ornate wallpaper, golden taps, and deep wood paneling, the place had the warmth of a grandfather’s library—and the spirit selection of a seasoned bartender’s dream. Shelves brimmed with Italian icons: Cynar, Ramazzotti, Braulio.
We weren’t just sipping; we were sinking in—into the leather stools, into a rhythm slowed by conversation, and into glasses filled with something dark, herbal, and slightly mysterious. At Old Fox, the drinks didn’t just taste good—they told stories.
A Morning at the Torrefazione
Before our pasta pilgrimage to Via Pasteria, I searched for a local torrefazione—a coffee roaster frozen in time, where the beans do the talking and the air is thick with nostalgia. We went to:
Torrefazione Bar e Caramelle Sbarbaro e Visigalli
Saved again by the rain to be embraced by that little moment that feels even richer. This venerable roastery, tucked on Via Giambellino 5 in the Giambellino neighborhood, is a treasured neighborhood icon. The sign read “Le migliori miscele di caffè”—the best coffee blends—and we believed it. Glass hoppers brimmed with roasted beans: Famiglia, Santos, Moka, Sublime. Each name felt like a character in an aromatic opera.
The Heartbeat of Milanese Coffee
At the bar, an elderly gentleman pulled shots with precision honed by decades. No gimmicks. Just ginseng, orzo, and espresso that snapped you awake with a smile. Hands down the best coffee of the ENTIRE trip! The counter was stacked with lollipops and liqueurs, balancing childhood joy with grown-up rituals. It was a place where locals paused mid-errand, not for convenience, but for connection.
Described as "the bar of Giambellino," it’s known for its warm, familiar atmosphere, where patrons warmly exchanged stories with us and shared the authentic Italian story of adventure, passion, and love.
Its retro fittings, rotating bean dispensers, and ritualistic pace make it a genuine symbol of the area—a local institution with enduring character.
If Milan has a soul, this was it—in stainless steel handles, rotating bean dispensers, and that single sip of warmth served with quiet pride.
The Sunshine
This was the amazing crew from Via Pasteria on Via Cesare da Sesto. They were warm, welcoming, educational, and masters of the art of pasta. Construct the core ingredients, and you can build anything!
We couldn’t leave without a moment with the heart behind the plates. Smiles, flour-dusted aprons, and proud stances. This team made sure we left with full bellies and fuller hearts.
Even the greyest Milan skies couldn’t compete with the cheerful yellow of Via Pasteria. This storefront glows like a lemon drop in a rain puddle, pulling you in with color therapy and the promise of handmade pasta!
Inside, pasta wasn’t just served—it was celebrated. In open fridge drawers stacked like treasure chests, we met pasta in all its forms: linguine, rigatoni, fusilli, paccheri. A proud staff member guided us through the pasta fridge with the same joy a sommelier might show you a cellar.
This plate? Handmade tagliolini crowned with delicate shrimp tartare and generous black truffle. A dish that whispered luxury but spoke the language of balance. Rich, cold, earthy, briny—all in one twirl of a fork.
Wide, bronze-toned pasta shells hugged bits of squid and parsley cream. Rustic and refined, this dish felt like the culinary version of jazz—surprising, smoky, and smooth in the end.
Sure, it’s just a salad… until it isn’t. Crisp romaine, creamy dressing, and the unexpected joy of thick pancetta croutons. A refreshing interlude between two pasta acts.
We came to Milan expecting fashion and architecture. We left enchanted by something deeper: the rhythm of a city that lets its food speak, its people shine, and its bitters linger—just like a good amaro.
Next stop: London. But Milan? You’ll stay with us.
