Italy’s Northeast Kingdom

On my desk in Rome is a diamond-hard fossil of compacted soil that I’ve been using as a paperweight. It’s my own piece of ponca, the stratified, marl-and-sandstone composite that forms much of the terrain of Friuli-Venezia Giulia. It’s also a handy metaphor for the region itself: layers upon layers of cultural influences, violently fused together by history’s tectonic shifts. From this mineral-rich land come some of Italy’s most beautiful, delicious, and elegant things. That’s why I’ve been returning to this bucolic corner again and again for more than a decade — and why you, perhaps, should be coming here too.

Friuli is the unsung hero of the Italian Northeast, and the very last bit of country you encounter as you drive from Venice toward Slovenia. It’s as porous as any frontier region, with a long connection to the lands across the border. The histories of northeastern Italy and the former Yugoslavia are deeply linked, along with their customs and foodways and even their languages. Many Friulano families have Balkan origins; street signs are bilingual Italian-Slovenian.

But signs are not the first thing you notice. What captures you is the landscape. Few places in Italy — not Tuscany, not Puglia, not Umbria — can claim views this spectacular. Whether you’re hiking the lush open Valli del Natisone, meandering through the elevated vineyards of the Collio, or taking in the angular limestone cliffs of Carso DOC, Friuli looks and feels like nowhere else.

What comes from the land is equally impressive: some of Europe’s finest natural wines, cheeses (like the majestic Montasio from the high Alpine plains), and produce, including the radicchio equivalent of a beauty queen (the prized Rosa di Gorizia). There’s a reason why some of the world’s top restaurateurs, chefs, and wine importers come here to unwind, to stock up on products, and to find inspiration and ideas.

Then there’s Trieste, the regional capital — part of Friuli but quite separate from it. Trieste is, first and foremost, a port town, in symbiosis with the sea, languid yet stirred by migrating fluxes through the pathways of commerce. (The city gained free port status in 1719, and a direct rail connection with Vienna a century later.) Trieste is so rich in history you can smell it, like spice whiffs in a Turkish market. The cityscape is a dizzying amalgam of neo-Gothic, Art Deco, Renaissance, medieval, Russian, and neoclassical; the atmosphere a wild conflation of Middle European, Balkan, and Southern Italian vibes. Trieste’s residents differ from their country neighbors, too: while the friulani earn their reputation as hardworking, private, bordering on melancholic, the triestani are ebullient, sports-crazy, tanned year-round.

What unites both triestani and friulani is a tendency to hold things on the down-low, and to keep the very best things to themselves. This can come off as a rather comical aversion to outsiders, which is not entirely off-base. Antonia Klugmann, chef-owner of L’Argine a Vencò in Collio and one of Italy’s brightest culinary lights, is only half-joking when she says “Gli indirizzi giusti non li diamo a nessuno!” (Translation: “We don’t give the right address to anyone!”) Which helps explain why, even now — with Italy squarely in the sights of every traveler on earth — Friuli and Trieste hover well below the tourist radar.

Thankfully, over a decade of coming here, I’ve gathered enough good intel and good local friends-in-the-know to offer a highly selective, by-no-means-comprehensive guide to one of Italy’s loveliest corners. (And yes, the addresses are real.) Just try to keep it to yourselves?

Lovers of natural wine likely know Friuli already, if only through its venerable producers. The truly wine-obsessed will want to arrive with at least one empty suitcase, possibly two, or at least be prepared to splurge on DHL. Friuli’s superstars — Gravner, Radikon, Primosic, Damijan Podversic, Keber — are all in the region of Collio, an undulating swath of green in the Gorizia Hills, between the Adriatic and the Julian Alps. Views of the mountains arise at every vantage point, serene and slightly austere. About a 45-minute drive south are Skerk, Zidarich, and Vodopivec in Carso, a plateau of limestone and dolomite, with jagged cliffs, blanketed by evergreens and bushes, that wrap around Trieste like a shawl.

Among my favorite, more niche producers are Cora Basilicata and Nikolas Juretic. Basilicata’s parents established Le Due Terre, the elegant family estate in the town of Prepotto in 1984. Today it has a cult following (Japan is its first foreign market) with 15,000 bottles and four wines; the most famous are Sacrisassi Bianco (a blend of Friulano and Ribolla Gialla) and Sacrisassi Rosso (a blend of Schioppettino and Refosco — Friuli is known more for its whites, so this is a welcome exception). Both the winery and family home sit on a low hill with stunning views.

Technically this is neither Collio nor Carso: “We’re sort of an anomaly, and it’s what makes our wines what they are,” says Basilicata. “Our soil is marl and clay but a few hundred feet from us is Carso,” in between two lands, or due terre as the name states. More than seven acres are vines; another 16 are for biodiversity, with a mix of woods (cherry, peach, chestnut) and grass. “Maintaining an equilibrium with the surrounding flora and fauna has always been the core of our philosophy,” she says. When she’s not busy working, Basilicata likes to visit her winemaking friends. She particularly admires Stefano Novello of Ronco Severo, “and when it comes to wine bars and shops, I recommend La Bottiglia Volante in Trieste, and in Udine, L’Alimentare, Vinodilà, and Peccol, a charming place seemingly stuck in the 1960s.”

Rising star Juretic started making wine under his own name in 2018 (though some may know him as one of Simonit&Sirch’s master pruners): “My father’s family has always had vineyards, but they used to sell the grapes. Now I care for our 3 hectares near Cormons and San Floriano del Collio, working mainly with very old vines and indigenous varieties like Friulano, Ribolla Gialla, Malvasia Istriana, and Picolit.”

Juretic favors co-plantation, a.k.a. field blends (different grapes grown together, picked, and fermented at the same time). He doesn’t trim his vines, giving his grapes ample foliage coverage in the summer, and generally allows for nature to do its thing — the vines are surrounded by woods and separated by rows thick with cover crops. Of his wines I particularly like the Mali, a proper orange made of Malvasia, Picolit, and Pinot Bianco (also a limited edition, so it’s nearly impossible to find now). I also can’t wait to try his 100% Picolit, to be released in 2025.

“The scene has evolved greatly in the past few years,” he says. “Some people still come for more classic whites under the Collio DOC [the official wine denomination, whose guidelines still keep many natural wine heroes out, though moves have been made to relax the rulebook]. A second wave has been building, a movement of producers who work with white-grape maceration and little to no intervention in the vineyard and in the cellar. Among foreign tourists, particularly young ones, wines like ours have been very much on demand and this has helped us overcome the fact that we’re small.”

It’s thanks to Juretic that I discovered Alimentari Tomadin, a fantastic deli in Cormons. (Leila Cipolloni, the owner, is a cross between a stand-up comedian and a local-specialties encyclopedia.)

Tomadin is the place to shop — its selection of cheese from Friuli and beyond is pull-your-hair crazy — while also enjoying some wine and sampling the local specialty frico, a decadent cheese-and-potato pie, with a great charcuterie board. Not just any board: Leila served me and a group of friends ribbons of mouthwatering guanciale topped with freshly grated kren; pairing cured or boiled meat with fresh horseradish is common here. Sweet/smoky and fresh/pungent make for a genius flavor chord. She also insisted we try some beautiful, whipped donkeymilk meringues and a toma d’alpeggio aged in a crust of bitter herbs. They brought the cheese pros of the group to their knees. In between deep dives on this or that, she never stopped cracking jokes.

The daughter of one of Trieste’s oldest families, Antonia Klugmann is now one of the region’s most celebrated chefs. Full disclosure: She’s also one of my dearest friends. I have known her for over a decade and I go to her Michelin-starred restaurant, L’Argine a Vencò, about an hour north of Trieste, at least a couple times a year. It’s as much a soul-feeding experience as it’s a supremely delicious one. (Who would have thought that Antonia nearly became a lawyer instead of a culinary star?) Following stints in Milan and Venice, Antonia found a second home in Friuli; she’s perfectly positioned to explain the differences between the Friuli and Trieste traditions, the mix of two gastronomic currents — Mediterranean and Eastern European.

“The cuisine in Trieste is obviously influenced by the proximity to the sea and to Carso and Istria,” she says. “The fat of choice is olive oil, there’s loads of humble greens, wild asparagus, chicories, beans. The cucina friulana incorporates greens too but the vibe is more country-mountain: Think radicchio and turnips as well as suet and pork, though this is a very basic way of framing the two.” Home tables in Trieste reflect a complex migratory lineage: “In my family’s case it was a mix of Polish-Ukrainian Jewish, Pugliese, and Emiliana.” Both the triestana and friulana cuisine lean toward a smoky, acidic flavor profile. Trieste is all about sauerkraut — fermented cabbage — and Friuli about brovada, fermented purple-top white-globe turnip, and the mixing of sweet and savory; no surprise one of the region’s signature dishes is plum-filled gnocchi.

L’Argine a Vencò is an antique mill lodged between a vineyard and a levee (argine, in Italian); Antonia restored it with her sister and right hand, Vittoria. It’s a restaurant with seven rooms, an orchard with ancient fruit trees, and a vegetable garden. Corn is big in Friuli (polenta!) and Antonia grows a white pearl heirloom variety using the friulana equivalent of a Mexican milpa (the co-plantation of corn, legumes, and squash, to increase nitrogen in the soil). Vegetables are central to Antonia’s cuisine (she’s a master forager) as are fresh pasta, less noble cuts of meat (spleen, kidney, lamb’s neck, veal tongue), and sustainably sourced Adriatic fish. Her dishes tread the line between austerity and comfort — think handmade spaghetti alla chitarra with ramps in the dough, or panna cotta made with bitter herbs, paired with a sheep’s-milk ricotta gelato.

When she’s back in her hometown, the chef is a regular at SET-Sapori Eccellenti del Territorio, a gourmet deli in the Old Town quadrant Cavana that stocks much of the delicious Alpine cheese she serves at L’Argine. She also frequents Buffet Da Pepi — yes, a buffet — crossing the majestic Piazza Unità d’Italia. “Some people consider buffets to be equivalents of the Venetian bacari but there’s a subtle difference. In a bacaro you drink and eat cicchetti, which are like tapas.” (Think creamed stockfish over crunchy polenta croutons, stuffed tramezzini, or sarde in saor.) “A buffet is like an all-day diner where you can enjoy small bites but also a proper meal.” When I went with her, we had a big plate of bollito misto, with dollops of beer-spiked mustard, freshly grated kren, potato salad, sauerkraut, and fried eggplant.

In spring and fall she recommends trying a frasca. “Some people, whether regular families or producers, operate a sort of pop-up osteria for a few weeks every year, opening their homes and serving simple food and wine. They pull up a few chairs and tables and hang a leafy branch — a frasca, hence the name — outside. Per tradition, they could remain open “until the branch wilted.” In Trieste and Carso this is called osmiza, from the Slovenian word for “eight,” or the number of days you were allowed to sell your produce surplus under the Habsburgs.

Award-winning restaurateur Bobby Stuckey is such a devoted frasca lover that that he borrowed the name for his restaurant in Boulder, Colorado. Drawing on Friuli as inspiration, rather than the usual Tuscan/Roman/Sicilian mood board, is a testament to Stuckey’s instincts and intuition. Friuli is for people who operate against the grain.

“I fell in love with the wines of Friuli 30 years ago,” says Stuckey, who’s also a master sommelier. “At Frasca we were the first in the U.S. to put Radikon on the list. I used to close the restaurants and take all my team there. I would joke that 20 million Americans go to Venice, while only 30 go to Friuli — and of those, probably 20 are my staff.”

By now Stuckey should be an honorary resident; he’s literally written the book on the region. Over the years he’s grown close with the region’s top winemakers and restaurateurs, starting with the Sirk family, owners of La Subida and Osteria La Preda, outside Cormons.

“When I train for the marathon I run from La Subida all the way to the hill where Le Due Terre is,” says Stuckey, who’s also good friends with Nikolas Juretic’s mom, Elena. Friuli to him is very season-specific: “The wine country is great in late fall, beginning of winter, which is also the perfect time to taste Rosa di Gorizia. I had some of the best at Trattoria Al Parco, in Buttrio; I must have gone 70 times. Lots of winemakers eat there. That radicchio with pancetta and vinaigrette…I could eat it forever.”

Stuckey hasn’t just been working on importing some of the region’s most iconic producers but has also been producing his own Friulano (and other varietals) for almost 20 years, with Scarpetta Wines. “My job is to elevate Friuli-Venezia Giulia in everything I do. Friuli is my North Star.”

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you that a city known for its caffè letterari and for being the birthplace of Illy doesn’t do much specialty coffee. There are better destinations for that, and it’s okay. But Trieste is absolutely mad for coffee, and its cafés are fundamental to understanding the city and its culture.

You can still get a very good V60 (as well as excellent bread, pastries, and natural wines) at Pagna – Panificio Artigianale, opened by Pedja Kostic, a Serbian baker/entrepreneur with long experience in the U.S. and a passion for Veneto and Friuli. Or you can go to Spaccio Pani — another recently opened bakery near the waterfront, the project of Andrea Chittaro and Riccardo Amodeo, with restaurant Mimì e Cocotte — for batch brew and more oven treats. Spaccio gets bonus points for being next to two of my favorite stores in Trieste: VUD, which sells exquisite cabinets and cutting boards in a beautiful space that’s both workshop and showroom; and Zeno Bandini, a bookstore that feels right out of a Harry Potter alley (or a Yorgos Lanthimos movie), with an impeccably curated, masterful collection of rarities, many of which are cuisine-adjacent.

There is a bookstore also inside Antico Caffè San Marco, which you shouldn’t miss, for a few reasons: It’s one of the caffè storici the city is known for (where much of the psychoanalytical and literary intelligentsia used to gather), with beautiful interiors, recently renovated. It’s near the stunning Synagogue of Trieste, one of the largest in Europe. Just make sure you know your local coffee lingo: The classic order here is a “Capo in B,” a small cappuccino in a glass. Then there’s the Illy flagship café, overlooking Trieste’s Canal Grande, near the statue of James Joyce (a onetime city regular). The family business has been rooted here since its foundation in 1933. “We’re a global brand but our connection with this unique city is stronger than ever,” says president Andrea Illy. “Our headquarters are here, as well as our University of Coffee, where we carry out our continuous research on the global coffee supply chain, promoting sustainable and responsible practices.”

Illy is also one of the sponsors of Barcolana, the city’s famous historic regatta, taking place each second Sunday in October. It’s organized by the Società Velica Barcola e Grignano, a legendary sailing club just out of town. Triestani love their coffee almost as much as they love sailing, swimming, diving, and tanning, so you will find kiosks serving espresso (perhaps not the best one) with the best views of the sea all along the coast, next to the town’s famous clubs and beach resorts. Order one, while you decide where to go next. Whatever you decide, you won’t go wrong ­— just as long as it’s here.

Laura Lazzaroni, Our Woman in Rome, was the first Editor-in-Chief of Food & Wine Italia. Previously a New York correspondent for D di Repubblica, then at L’Uomo Vogue, she has published six cookbooks.