Cooking with Don Alfonso 1890 and Chef Nicola Pignatelli
By Dylan Dias
The legacy of Don Alfonso 1890 in Sant’Agata sui Due Golfi – beyond its pearlescent gates, coral-pink façade, vibrant gardens, and stunning food – is a monument to the human condition. Walking the grounds, and dining in its world-renowned restaurant, is to encounter the meaning of creativity with intention – process, design, and the reason we do things the way we do. The cultivation of an ingredient, the method of cookery, how it nourishes the body, and the orchestra of its plate. Through the eyes, and hands, of Chef Ernesto Iaccarino, we have learned much about the spirit of Don Alfonso – covered here, in an earlier story for VeraVita Magazine. But little did we know, learning the story was only a glimpse of what staying in this incredible place can truly offer you. For me, it was a magical dinner, but it was also a private, in-depth, and tactile cooking class – courses that are available to book for any guests visiting the estate, held inside Don Alfonso’s kitchen-adjacent, colourful cooking laboratory.
Joined by Executive Chef Nicola Pignatelli, I sheepishly entered the lab – a stand-alone cooking, pantry, and dining area of hand-painted ceramics, gorgeous kitchenware and technology, and brightly-coloured walls filled with art, books, sculpture, and the stories that have shaped the land and heritage behind Don Alfonso 1890. It’s here, bathed in natural light and overlooking the villa’s verdant gardens, that Nicola peeled back the veil on some of the restaurant’s key cuisine – exploring the culinary language behind Mediterranean produce, pelagic waters, and refined cookery.
Now, to be fair – I adore food. I study cooking, I find produce fascinating, and I have a deep respect for the beauty of proteins of origin. But if you’re someone of Chef Nicola’s calibre and pedigree, and you’re asking me to cut a zucchini, I’m going to sweat. Yes, I’ll smile and be cute about it, but we both know those batons of zucchini are coming out in two or three different shapes. Chef Nicola, a consummate professional and a sweet man, was patient and personable, often looking at my work and saying – “that’s ok.” Perhaps as both an acknowledgement of my mediocrity (go ahead, laugh) as well as an affirmation that it was fine, nonetheless. Why? Because we were together, sipping wine, and using simple ingredients to make fantastic food – and truly – what could be better?
I shelled stunningly beautiful prawns from the Tyrrhenian Sea while Chef Nicola expertly butchered, portioned, and filleted a whole red snapper. The bones, head, and fins of the latter to begin a stock; the remnants and tomalley of the former to build the base of a bisque with soffritto, pristine Don Alfonso olive oil, and glossy tomatoes. Immediately, the sounds and scents of the kitchen awaken – the warming aroma of a deepening broth, the splattering sizzle of heat, fat, and slowly caramelizing sugars, and the spring-like fragrance of herbs, green and vibrant, being picked, chopped, and sprinkled. Watching Chef Nicola – as I clumsily prepare flat-leaf parsley – is like watching a conductor guide his orchestra. The ingredients are the notes; the cooking is the music.
When our bisque reduced with stock and transformed into a velour-like, crimson ochre sauce, it was tossed with freshly rolled, cut, and cooked tagliolini – finished in the bisque itself (of course) with fresh lemon and orange zest, the red prawns we began with, and rosemary. The tagliolini was cut by yours truly – were they perfectly shaped ribbons? Absolutely not. But did it eat well? Absolutely. Sweet, buttery, velvety, and bright – a taste of both the sea and the land.
Soon after, morsels of snapper trimmings became an entirely new dish — gnudi, with ricotta and herbs. Rich and creamy pillows, not unlike dumplings, that are decadent and cloud-like. I shaped them with my hands, rolled them in flour, and to my surprise, Chef Nicola finished the gnudi by steaming them in baskets – something more akin to Chinese dim sum than the kitchens of the Sorrentine Peninsula. Again, were they perfectly shaped? Not quite. I do recall the charming Chef Nicola asking me to reshape a few – lovingly, of course. But the results were gorgeous. Chef served our gnudi with the finished broth made from the carcass of the snapper and various vegetables – a candid window, yet again, into the character of Don Alfonso. A dish, made of whole and pure Mediterranean ingredients, tweaked with inspiration from a faraway place (though still understanding the land that it’s from), while using every part of itself as a key component in this meal – with zero waste. Honest cooking, but done with exactitude, finesse, and sustainability in mind. It was delicious.
Finally, Chef Nicola and I prepared our snapper. An herbaceous crust of rolled butter and breadcrumbs, chilled and then cut into little planks, balanced atop the flesh of the fish after the skin had been seared and crisped in olive oil. Lightly finished in the oven, the blankets of bread and butter would then slowly melt – draping the snapper in gorgeous, glistening flavour. Plated with an herbed emulsion and sautéed zucchini (my adorable, misshapen batons from earlier). A study in the fern-like colours of spring – earthen, grassy, clean, and fresh. One of the most memorable plates of seafood I had during my entire stay in Italy. But truly – it was Chef Nicola himself that made it so unforgettable.
Dining at Don Alfonso is to cross a certain threshold into the story of land, produce, and food. But to cook on its grounds – to learn with ingredients from the sea at their doorstep and the gardens they nurture and harvest at Le Peracciole – is an entirely new and enchanting experience. It’s refined technique and insight – understanding the process of a dish from zero to completion, with integrity and without waste. But it’s also the casual warmth and joy of coming together with a friend, creating a meal using whole, natural ingredients from the ground you’re standing on, and saying to yourself – “oh man, that’s good.” Because that really is all it is. Good people, good moments, and good food. Which, I think, is the whole point.
To Chef Nicola and the fantastic team at Don Alfonso that continue to craft this kind of enchantment for each of their guests – thank you. To cook and learn with a chef of Michelin calibre, in a heritage property of immaculate beauty, in a coastal town in southern Italy – I feel like I’ve written my own storybook, in a way. But this time, I get to live it. What a gift. – VV
