By Amy Pigeon
The word radici—Italian for roots—feels less like a brand and more like a declaration. A reminder. An anchor. And in the case of Toronto’s most quietly revolutionary new restaurant, it is the thesis of everything: from the food, to the philosophy, to the texture of twine binding your cutlery together. Radici Project is a dining experience that doesn’t just serve you plates—it returns you to the soil from which they came.
There’s plenty of good food in Canada—we just have to be strategic. Source in season. Adapt recipes. If you follow this, you can be sustainable and still keep prices accessible.
— CHEF EMILIANO DEL FRATE
Rooted—quite literally—in the union of Italian, Canadian and Japanese culinary traditions, Radici Project is the vision of Chef Emiliano Del Frate and his wife and business partner, Kayo Ito. Both bring pedigree. Both bring purpose. Emiliano’s journey winds through some of the world’s most demanding kitchens, including Noma in Copenhagen, where he foraged for ingredients daily, guided by the principle that seasonality wasn’t just a constraint—it was the art. His Toronto chapter began at Don Alfonso when the restaurant glowed with its original Michelin ambition in the Consumer’s Gas Building. During the pandemic, he ventured across the Atlantic to study at Noma, later finding himself in Paris, followed by Tokyo. In 2023, Chef Emiliano returned to his beginnings in Toronto and helped Chef Daniele Corona open DaNico, refining his mastery of elegance and restraint—until it was time to put down his own roots.
And so, the Radici Project was born: a humble, heartfelt culinary love letter, penned in the language of sustainability and soul. Partnering with Vincenso La Mura and Angela Villani—owners of the acclaimed L’Antipasto in Woodbridge—Emiliano and Kayo have created more than a restaurant. They’ve created a philosophy. One grounded in zero-waste practices, in careful sourcing (70% Canadian, 15% Italian, and 15% Japanese), and in the belief that if you root yourself in the land and the season, beauty will follow.
The restaurant’s interior whispers its ethos. Natural materials, earthy tones, and whimsical touches appear like artifacts from a thoughtful life: spoon rests made of Jenga blocks, napkins tied with string, and ceramics that look like they were shaped by wind. There is humility here, but also wit—a kind of sprezzatura that’s quiet and unforced. Every detail exists for a reason. As Emiliano put it, “Fine dining doesn’t have to feel pretentious. It should feel like coming home.”
Our experience began with Jaby, our server—a person so at ease in their presence, they could’ve been cast as a guide into a forest of flavour. Cool, relaxed, and deeply intuitive, they narrated our evening like a sensory poem in a jazz club. Our meal opened with a palate cleanser that redefined the genre: cucumber kombucha and anchovy, a briny, bright, non-alcoholic take on a dirty martini. Sparkling, funky, and wildly refreshing—it was unlike anything we’d tasted.
The amuse bouche teased whimsy and precision in equal measure: a savoury noori waffle, nutty and sweet with buckwheat, topped with burrata and kimchi. Beside it, a takoyaki filled with crab head meat rather than the usual octopus, nodding to tradition while offering something new.
The first course proper featured Dungeness crab leg—rich, buttery, tender—served in its own head shell carried over from Takoyaki, topped with a sturgeon caviar from New Brunswick. Seasoned simply with olive oil and paired with house-made almond milk, it was a lesson in restraint. The almond pulp? Repurposed in a rhubarb tart elsewhere on the à la carte menu. Sustainability here isn’t a marketing gimmick—it’s doctrine. The crab appeared in three ways across the restaurant’s menu, ensuring nothing was wasted. To follow, a sourdough bread pseudo-course nestled within the first course–because bread, in Italian culture, is everything. We were treated to a 6-year-old starter from Emiliano’s friend, nurtured like his first born, baked fresh and served with Ontario butter and smoked sturgeon. “It’s almost like a ham”, Chef Emiliano notes. With each bite—smoky, silky, a just touch of the sea—you felt the continuation of the sturgeon’s story told by the earlier caviar. Paired with the bread and butter, it was like an elevated ham sandwich at the edge of the ocean, but with fish.
To drink, two thoughtful pairings: a zero-proof Garum Spritz, crafted by Chef Emiliano himself with kombucha, garum, simple syrup and soda water—earthy, tangy, and deeply original. The alcoholic option, a sparkling wine from Japan—Kishu no Fudō Tōji Shibata Hidemichi from Heiwa Shuzō—offered effervescence and elegance in equal measure. Both carried the dish’s story forward beautifully.
The duck course arrived next—cured in beeswax, plated with lacto-fermented plums, lardo di Colonnata, and a Barese-style duck neck sausage. The beeswax softened the gamey edge, yielding a moist, nuanced duck that melted into its own fat. Each element of the bird was honoured. The plums added a sour lift, cleansing the palate while deepening the dish’s richness. The wine, a pét-nat from Leaning Post Wines in Niagara, echoed the plum’s stone fruit profile with a citrus-bright acidity. Jaby, with their characteristic passion, remarked that this Niagara winery was one of the best in North America–”And I will die on that hill”. Upon elaborating on the pairing, Jaby stated: “Wine pairings are like chasing the dragon—I always want your palate to feel like it’s going for that first bite.” The zero-proof pairing was just as impactful: the parrot tonic, graced with pear, carrot, lemon, aquafaba, and tonic. Earthy, juicy, energizing.
Next came karaage with a Nonna’s twist—deboned chicken wings stuffed with a nostalgic Italian roast chicken and potato filling, inspired by Emiliano’s grandmother. The dish was home disguised as haute. Served with fermented papacelle peppers and mascarpone, the balance was soft heat and cooling cream.
Then, tajarin with garum butter and smoked caviar—its hue, a soft blush from beets, its flavour, a symphony of silkiness and salinity. A zero proof Hojicha Lemon Spritz brought an earthy tea balance to the acidity that neutralized the brininess of the dish in perfect balance. For the wine pairing, a Lazio Bianco from Italy—our wine journey returning to the motherland.
The fifth course, cappellacci alla Genovese in a broth of burnt onion dashi, shio koji, sumac, and ginger oil, was nothing short of alchemy. This was fusion without force. No Italian ingredients in the dashi, no Japanese in the pasta. Instead, each existed as they were—together, not fused, but joined in an alliance of respect. A Toronto dish if ever there was one. A city of coexistence made edible.
Course six: halibut, gently cooked in olive oil from Emiliano’s hometown of Priverno, paired with maitake mushrooms rehydrated in the same dashi from before, and topped with crispy peperone crusco. The dish was soft, rich, and briny. The crunch of the peppers offered an essential textural lift. A theme of salt and butter revealed itself, reminding us how deeply nourishing and beautiful the Italian food philosophy of simplicity can be.
Seventh: veal with burnt parsnip and Saskatoon berry jus. A single cilantro flower was offered for a bite “with and without,” playing with sweetness and polarization. Jaby, with their signature wit, told us: “If you don’t like cilantro, well, sucks to be you.” The blunt honesty was hilariously refreshing. The meat was faultless. The parsnip, charred until caramelized, transformed into something closer to candy than root vegetable. The wine—RR81 from Niagara—was dark, spiced to clove perfection. The mocktail—beet kombucha, fir syrup, soda, pine branch—tasted like a forest walk in a glass, as the beverage’s namesake would state.
The final dish: dolci. Milk, honey, pollen, and chamomile. A dreamscape of gentleness and care, like a cozy hug before bed, designed to mimic an Italian and Japanese nightcap. Japanese-style steamed sponge cake, milk cream, chamomile gel. The flavour of peace. A reference to the beeswax used with the duck courses prior and a fitting end to a menu that spiraled inward like a hive.
After dessert, we met the tea sommelier who shared their next dream: a full tea pairing menu. We sampled a Japanese green tea with toasted brown rice—nutty, buttery, naturally sweet. The cereal taste added a toasty sweetness that made me truly enjoy green tea for the first time, without the cloak of added sweeteners. Brava.
Emiliano told us, “There’s plenty of good food in Canada—we just have to be strategic. Source in season. Adapt recipes. If you follow this, you can be sustainable and still keep prices accessible.”
It’s a vision of fine dining that is honest, grounded, and quietly radical.
Each dish at Radici Project balances cultures differently: some blend, some coexist, others collide beautifully. It is Italian. It is Japanese. It is Canadian. But mostly, it is Emiliano and Kayo—crafted with memory, place, and intention.
In a world obsessed with novelty, Radici Project dares to look downward. To dig deep. To trust that the most honest flavour—grow from roots. – VV
Photography by Valentina Tretiak and the VeraVita editorial team
