Scarpetta: the art of lingering

I spent quite some time debating which “bite” to begin with. There are countless traditions, small gestures and everyday rituals that say a lot about who we are and how we live. In the end, I chose to start from what I know best: Italy, and from one of its simplest and most recognizable table habits.

At first glance, scarpetta looks like nothing special. You finish your pasta, and instead of letting the last streaks of sauce go to waste, you take a piece of bread and gather them up. Practical, ordinary, almost invisible. Yet even the most ordinary gestures can reveal a culture’s values. This one tells us about how Italians approach food, time and the table itself.

Its origin was not glamorous. For centuries, bread was not only food but also utensil, and wasting sauce or oil was unthinkable. In farming and working-class households, that piece of bread had a job: it made sure nothing was left behind. In early twentieth-century Italy, a time marked by scarcity and migration, this simple act reflected respect toward food, toward labor, toward resources that could not be wasted.

Today, most people don’t need to scrape their plates this way, but the habit has remained. What was once necessity has become closure. It’s a way of finishing properly, of not cutting short what still has something to offer.

There’s also something else hidden inside this detail: the Italian art of stretching time. Meals here are rarely only about nutrition. They are about slowing down, talking, extending moments. Cleaning the plate with bread fits this logic perfectly. It postpones the end, keeps people at the table a little longer, and makes the experience last beyond the last forkful of pasta. In other countries, the empty plate signals that it’s over. In Italy, this gesture says: not yet.

For years, etiquette questioned whether it was acceptable. Many considered it fine at home but too informal for restaurants. Attitudes have changed. Today chefs often encourage it, treating it as the most honest compliment. What was once considered rustic is now recognized as authentic. And in this sense, it is also a small rebellion—against speed, against waste, against the idea of food as performance.

It is also about sharing. Around the table, it sparks smiles, comments, complicity. Someone might ask for another piece of bread, or joke about who gets to do it first. Like pouring the last drop of wine, it belongs to a culture where eating is rarely solitary. It’s not only about flavor but about connection.

That is why I chose this gesture to begin exploring “bites of culture.” It is not a recipe, not a dish, but a way of being. Deeply Italian in form, but easy to recognize everywhere, because the instinct behind it—making the most of what you have, stretching out a good moment—is universal. With one last piece of bread, you don’t just finish the plate. You extend the meal, the conversation, the company. You make it last, even if only for a few seconds more. My top 3 for 2025: To close, I can’t resist adding a personal note. If this gesture is both culture and habit, then it also lives in memories. Here are the three that, for me, stand out above the rest.

1. At my nonna’s table First place could only belong here. After a plate of pasta with her slow-simmered tomato sauce, the scarpetta is almost mandatory. No ceremony, no need for words—the gesture said it all.

2. Ristorante Bruno in Positano  The second takes me to the Amalfi Coast, at a restaurant where the view is as memorable as the food. Paccheri with swordfish, cherry tomatoes, and eggplant: rich, fresh and impossible to leave unfinished. The bread there was not only about taste but about holding onto the whole scene for a few seconds longer: the plate, the company, the sea stretching below.

3. Docs in Sacile Finally, a more recent and modern version, from the town in Northern Italy where I’ve lived in recent years. At Docs, the gesture is no longer a “secret ending” to the meal—it’s the starter. A ragù served with bread, designed to be enjoyed in the most straightforward way possible. Tradition stripped to its essence, adapted to a new setting, but instantly familiar.