08/Oct/2026

Written by Matteo Piccolomini

Trattoria alla Rivetta: reinventing everything while changing almost nothing

The baccalà mantecato has been the same since 1973. Everything else is up for debate.

The door. The tables. The clatter of plates. That unmistakable trattoria atmosphere. Everything seems to be in its place. Then they arrive. Three young men.

They move between the dining room and the kitchen. Bring the bread, open a bottle, set the plates on the table. Dishes you know. Or so you think.

Then you taste them.

The trattoria is still there. It’s just that someone has shifted something a few centimeters. Alla Rivetta has been here since 1973. First the grandfather and his sister, then the father. A family story passed down from one generation to the next, almost without interruption. Today, Daniele Pellizzaro is in the dining room. He’s the one who tells me the story.

“The aim is to keep the past alive in a Venice that’s much more touristy today than it used to be. And at the same time, to stay in the present, with the things we love.”

Alongside him are Mattia Garbin in the kitchen and Alessandro Gasparini, who mainly looks after the wines.

Decisions, though, are made together.

The wine cellar, too.
The producers, too.
And everything that ends up on the plate.

“We’ve never seen sourcing ingredients as a constraint. It’s a pleasure. It’s almost what drives us every day: looking for something different, trying things out.”

Trying things out.

The phrase comes up often.

White plate of pasta with small shellfish and herbs, set on a wooden table.

A hand holds a fork with a piece of meat above a plate of mashed potatoes, meat and onions in sauce.

A hand holds a fork over a white plate of long pasta coated in sauce.

Plate of shrimp and thinly sliced onions, with a fork lifting a bite; a decorated yellow glass and a bottle on the table.

A serving of white, shredded food on a ridged black plate, with a spoon and fork.

A golden-brown flatfish cooks on a griddle, while a hand holds a spatula beside it.

Spaghetti and shellfish are cooking in a pan on a stove, in front of a large pot.

Golden-brown pieces of fried meat on white porridge, in a white bowl.

Pasta with clams - © Salomé Costagliola

In the morning, the fish arrives from Rialto. Not everything is available, and not all the time. You have to talk to the people behind the stalls, find out what came in that morning, what’s in short supply, and what simply isn’t there.

They work mainly with Monzani and Trevisan, two stalls facing each other. With Paolo, one of the Monzani sons, they now speak almost the same language. He knows what they’re looking for and what doesn’t interest them.

“At six in the morning, they know what fresh fish they can get. You have to keep talking. Then they remember what you like. Sometimes something special comes in and they call you.”

That’s when the menu follows.

Not the other way around.

It’s the same with vegetables. Artichokes and herbs from Sant’Erasmo. Zucchini when they’re in season. Tomatoes and other vegetables from the lagoon and the mainland, between Cavallino and Jesolo.

The distances are short.
The season even shorter.

Some things last only a month, a month and a half. Then they disappear.

When I ask them which dishes cannot disappear, they don’t have to think for long.

Baccalà. Sarde in saor. Bigoli in salsa. Seppie al nero.

These are the dishes that anchor the place. The ones they can work with, perhaps shift something slightly, but without losing sight of where they started.

The baccalà mantecato arrives at the table. In Venice, you find it everywhere. Here, the recipe has been the same since 1973.

Not “inspired by.” Not “reimagined.” The same.

Salt cod, good-quality fish, few ingredients. You can still feel the fibres of the fish in your mouth. It hasn’t become a perfectly smooth, anonymous cream.

“After three generations, we still make it the way we did back then.”

Perhaps this is where you understand Alla Rivetta best. There are things they don’t touch. The baccalà remains baccalà. The sarde in saor stay the same. Venetian-style liver is still liver, onions, and little else. The seppie al nero remain seppie al nero.

Then, a little lemon zest goes onto the cuttlefish.

It shouldn’t be there. They add it anyway.

“It just lightens the dish.”

End of story. No revolution. Just a few centimetres.

Diners sit at tables in a wood-paneled restaurant beneath stained-glass lamps. A sign above the doorway reads “USCITA.”

Three men in white shirts sit around a restaurant table with wine, glasses, and dishes; wine bottles line the wooden shelves behind them.

Facade of a restaurant at a lower level, with a red sign reading “TRATTORIA RIVETTA,” steps, and a wrought-iron railing in front of the window.

Wood-paneled dining room with tables covered in white tablecloths, wooden chairs, pendant lights, and stained-glass windows with colorful floral patterns.

Framed illustration of a lively Italian street with passersby and a trattoria; the sign reads “TRATTORIA AI RIVETTI”.

Wooden window adorned with floral stained glass, overlooking a brick courtyard. A yellow-flowering plant sits on the windowsill; in the foreground, a set table.

Wine bottles lined up behind rows of stemmed glasses, in front of a window with red stained glass and a geometric grille.

Wine bottles lined up on a wooden shelf around an illuminated decanter. On the wall, a portrait of Jesus and, below it, a painting depicting a street.

Interior - © Salomé Costagliola

The rest of the menu has more room to change. There might be raw fish, new ingredients, techniques and ideas that, in 1973, probably would never have made it through Alla Rivetta’s door. But the classics are the anchors that hold everything in place. Maybe that’s why the place doesn’t feel like an old trattoria dressed up for the part. This isn’t about three guys trying to recreate something they never knew. The place was there before them. They just walked in.

“We keep what was truly typical alive. But of course, the years go by, and you have to know how to adapt.”

The wine follows the same pattern. At one point, Alessandro motions for me to follow him.

We cross the kitchen. Mattia is working. On the counter, the pasta with clams is still waiting to go into the pan. We stop to take a few photos. Then Alessandro opens the cellar door. This is his territory. He shows us his selection with the pride of someone playing you their best playlist.

Italy. France. Veneto. Friuli. Burgundy. Jura.

Alessandro lingers a little longer over France. Some of the sourcing goes through Marco Veneziana, in Marostica. Burgundy, Jura, familiar names and bottles that are much harder to find. What he likes most is lightness.

“They’re not heavy. They’re elegant, light.”

It’s not about flags. It’s more a way of drinking. There’s no set doctrine. Natural, classic, Veneto, France. The rule is simple: it has to be good.

Then come the producer, how they work, the place it comes from, the ethics.

A bottle runs out, and sometimes they have to wait six months before they can get it again. So the wine list can’t stand still. One wine disappears, another arrives. The cellar becomes almost a living organism: it changes because their tastes change, but also because some bottles simply aren’t available anymore.

It takes work. But here again, curiosity comes into play.

“You have to try.”

When I ask where they go to eat, the names start coming. Detours, places on the mainland. In Venice, there’s Masa. Then Venissa. But whenever they can, they cross the bridge. In Campalto, Il Passo. In Vicenza, La Meneghina. In Padua, UVA and Da Giovanni. In Mestre, Leoni di San Marco.

It doesn’t sound like a list of places. More like a map taking shape as we talk. They talk about restaurants the way they talk about bottles and fishmongers: one leads to another.

A place they tried because someone told them about it.
A producer they met through a friend.
A bottle they drank somewhere.
A dish that makes them want to go looking for an ingredient.

Shelf filled with wine bottles, with visible labels such as “Corte Marconi,” “Rinaldi Barolo,” and “Barolo.” A tattooed hand reaches for a bottle on the second row. — The trattoria’s wine cellar - © Salomé Costagliola

Wine bottles lined up on a shelf. The blue label on the bottle in the center reads “Bourgogne Aligoté,” “2023,” and “Sylvain Pataille.” — Bourgogne Aligoté - © Salomé Costagliola

Alla Rivetta seems to work the same way. A trattoria dating back to 1973 that keeps collecting little things without losing what was already there. Before leaving, I ask one last question.

“What do you cook at home when you don’t feel like cooking?”

They laugh. Then they tell me about a dish they make when they get together.

Anchovies. Garlic. Chili. Parsley. Oil, lots of it. Bread.

“That’s how we do aperitivo.”

After a day spent searching for the right fish, discussing bottles, choosing vegetables and keeping three generations of recipes alive, they end up coming back to this.

Anchovies.
Oil.
Bread.

The rest can wait.

In the same spirit

Lively café terrace beside a canal, beneath green parasols and in front of colorful houses; several small boats are moored along the quay.

restaurantVenice,ItalyAnice Stellato

restaurantMilan,Italy La Latteria di San Marco

Interiors at the restaurant Taberna da Rua das Flores in Lisbon

restaurantLisbon,Portugal A Taberna da Rua das Flores

Storytelling

Three generations of fishmongers stand side by side in front of their family stall at the historic Rialto fish market in Venice

Ittica Zane: three generations of fishers at the Rialto market

While many stalls are reinventing themselves for tourism, at the Erbaria, one family has been carrying on the same trade for nearly a century. An encounter that tells the story of Venice better than many guidebooks.

The lost culinary traditions of Venice: historical street food

Before Venice became a postcard, people ate in the streets. Boiled octopus, fried fish, razor clams seared over a candle flame. No tasting menus, no celebrity chefs. Just greasy fingers, real hunger and a city that knew how to feed itself. And perhaps still does.

A piece of Italy in Paris

Step inside the shop and you’re transported to another world. They gesture with their hands, they speak Italian—Carlo and Martina bustle behind the counter, serving the city’s most Italian Parisians—and vice versa. The conversation gets going right at the counter, as we try not to think too much about all the excellent products surrounding us so we can stay focused.

Gourmet grocery store

Cheese shop

Deli meats

taste artisan