The Story Behind Saporito

In Artena, a small town situated in the mountains of the Lazio region of Italy; a small town that feels like God’s hands carved it into impenetrable rock; a small town where time stands still and life slows down; there is a phrase that has lingered in my mind for decades:  C’è sempre un posto a tavola meaning, “There’s always room at the table.”

Whenever it was time for a meal, It didn’t matter how many chairs were already filled or how much pasta had been stretched and cut  that morning. Somehow, another place was made. Another glass of wine was poured. Another plate appeared.

Saporito began there — not as a business plan, but as a feeling.

In Lucia’s kitchen, espresso or caffè was readily prepared in the morning, work began, and  flour dusted the table before noon. Stock was simmering on the stove, tortelloni were shaped slowly by hand, each one sealed with care. Amatriciana sauce gently cooked for hours, never rushed. There was a rhythm, both steady and patient.  In the background of the kitchen, someone was always stirring, chopping, setting the table, or telling a story.

No one hurried the meal; to begin it or to end it.  Meals became a time to unwind, enjoy each other’s company, and savor the food that was prepared.  With it, the wine moved through conversation where sounds of “buono” between words added to the story.  Food was not a performance — it was participation.

Each time I came home from Artena, it was always with a longing to return.  Maybe because I learned more than recipes. Maybe because I learned that there is something so delicious in beautifully simple ingredients. Maybe because I came home with a different understanding of what cooking could be and I yearned for more.

Saporito is my attempt to carry that feeling forward. The fresh pasta I bring to the farmers market, the marinara that simmers slowly, the vinaigrettes made from scratch — they all begin the same way those everyday meals did: with time, intention, and respect for the ingredients.

I don’t know exactly where Saporito is going. What I do know is why it started.

It started because handmade pasta tastes different.
Because the best meals deserve time.
Because meals should gather people, not rush them.

Saporito is small by design. It is built on flour-covered counters, early mornings, and the quiet satisfaction of doing something properly. It exists for busy families who still want a home-cooked meal, for friends gathering on a Friday night, for anyone who wants to bring a little bit of Italy home.

There is always room at the table.

And I’m grateful you’re here.