Stella

Some evenings remind you exactly why you started this whole endeavor. Stella was one of them. Tucked into the heart of Burlingame Avenue, this charming Northern Italian osteria wrapped us in warmth from the moment we sat down, soft table lamps against a backdrop of stone and the kind of gentle murmur that tells you a room is genuinely happy.

The pasta purses (plump little pillows of pear and taleggio) became the evening’s undisputed centerpiece, though they had serious competition. The sole piccata was as refined and perfectly calibrated, bright with lemon and studded with capers. The truffle gnocchi, lifted by crispy sage, was the kind of dish that makes you briefly forget every other version of gnocchi you’ve ever eaten. The rosemary focaccia, which might otherwise be an afterthought, arrived just in time to soak up the remaining sauces before the plates were gone.

What elevated the meal beyond the food was the service. Genuinely warm, encyclopedically knowledgeable, and unobtrusive in exactly the right measure. Our server felt like collaborators in the evening, with great recommendations across the menu. We finished on a variety of deserts, the crème brûlée was everything it should be, with a layer of sugar on top as thick as glass. Nobody wanted to leave.

This is the first restaurant that we’ve started collecting our own ratings, and what a start with a perfect five.