It’s an unassuming plate - little irregular lumps of nearly naked pasta. No visual fireworks, no flashy garnish. I doubt I’d have ordered the agnolotti dal plin if a dining companion hadn’t praised it. “Guido’s mama makes them all by hand,” Daniel said, describing the folded, veal-stuffed pockets. “The sauce is just meat drippings from the roasting pan – but it’s probably the ...
