Piccolino: A Tuscan Kitchen in Jerusalem's Oldest Courtyard

The arancini arrives first, three golden spheres still crackling from the fryer, each one split open to reveal a molten interior of risotto, wild mushrooms, and mascarpone that runs across the plate in a glossy ribbon. Across the courtyard, a violinist plays something slow and unhurried, and the sound carries over stone walls that have stood on this corner for a century and a half. Outside the open door, the lanes of Nahalat Shiva tighten around Music Square, their limestone buildings lit in a soft amber. You tear a piece of focaccia from the basket, press it into a slick of olive oil, and realize this is the rare Jerusalem dinner where every detail of the room is pulling in the same direction as every detail on the plate. Piccolino has been doing this for years, quietly, and the pleasure of the place is the pleasure of watching something old keep its confidence.

Chef Moshe Avdiel, who previously ran the kitchen at Little Jerusalem in the Ticho House, treats Piccolino's menu the way an Italian village cook might: ingredient first, technique in service of it, showmanship strictly forbidden. The arancini are a perfect statement of that philosophy. The rice is bound with just enough cheese to hold, the crumb is fine and even, and the fry is quick enough that the shell stays thin. Bite through and the contrast is textbook. That kind of textbook cooking is harder than it sounds, and Piccolino makes it look like nothing.