LA LATTERIA LIVES ON: A SECOND ACT FOR A MILANESE ICON - ITALY SEGRETA
Just over a year ago, Milan was in mourning as one of its historic dining institutions faced closure. The final chapter seemed imminent, with Christmas Eve marking its last night. After 40 years the Maggi family would close their beloved seven-table La Latteria institution. Their sons, working the front of the house, would not be so bold to carry their parents’ torch. It was always rumored the day would come. As word spread of the closure, the lines outside tripled, filled with loyal patrons hoping for one last supper. Milanese diners savored the final moments of–what seemed to be–the end of an era.
A few days before the lights were turned back on at the unassuming location on Via San Marco, Il Corriere della Sera, whose offices are across the street, announced the reopening–with an acquisition by cashmere heir Vittoria Loro Piana. It was just shy of one year later. News of the purchase came with a promise: to keep La Latteria the same as the Maggi’s left it. And to assure it so, Maria and Artuso Maggi would return for at least six months; better yet, their sons agreed to run the front of the house indefinitely.
Among my writer friends, La Latteria sparks mixed opinions. For its loyal fans, it’s a culinary institution worth every minute of the wait. My former boss dined there over 100 times during his eight months in Milan (and introduced Maria to Michelle Obama when she came to Milan on a global mission during Expo Milano in 2015). He has already booked a trip for March, eager to experience Arturo’s alchemic cooking and Maria’s delightfully sharp wit once again.
For others, though, it’s seen as snobbish or “too fashion-y.” In truth, Loro Piana is just around the corner, making them more than just patrons—they’re neighbors. In a way, the restaurant’s revival feels fitting, as it was acquired by a company whose employees have long frequented it for lunch. But in Milan, where food and fashion are inextricably linked, history often finds a way to live on. Just as Marchesi and Cova were ushered into a new chapter under the stewardship of Prada and LVMH, La Latteria’s fate may not be as final as once feared. The question now lingers: in a city that reveres both legacy and reinvention, will this iconic institution be reborn?
Maria warmed up to me when I told her about my friendship with my Obama-connected boss. But she is no wallflower. In her late 70s, she’s busy as a queen bee, moving in and out of the kitchen so swiftly during the 2-3 turns of service that you might miss her if you blink. And if you’re waiting too long for a friend to arrive before placing your order, she won’t hesitate to point it out—especially if you’re a newcomer. Like Milan itself, La Latteria could often feel like a “who’s who” gathering, but beneath its unassuming exterior is something deeper: ritual and simple, cozy food. A place where time slows, where dishes are prepared with care.
“Milan is back,” I overheard from the table next to mine during my first visit, just 10 days after La Latteria reopened. I recognized a young writer from Los Angeles at the table. I had waited in line with them and 10 others—a familiar rite at a place that never took reservations and doesn’t plan to start anytime soon. Inside, nearly every table was enjoying puntarelle topped with a luscious anchovy olive oil sauce (the LA writer ordered a second). Arturo shared his secret: never soak puntarelle in water. Eat it immediately after it’s cut, or it turns bitter.
Pere cotte al vino con gelato
On my third visit, I was invited by son Marco to come early the next day and ask some questions. The new chef? A young woman from Mantova who collaborates closely with Maria and Arturo, experimenting with her own dishes before service; the couple shared a plate and talked about adding it to the menu. A thick, crescent-shaped slice of roasted squash, slightly caramelized at the edges, with a velvety gorgonzola sauce. The chef’s name was not to be shared, as she is still being tested, the couple explained. Arturo has taught her how to cook in silver pans. He does it to “rebalance the energy of his vegetables” by alchemically reviving the fermentation process and purifying the food, rendering it more easily digestible. While it wasn’t explicitly stated, the test here seemed to be a lesson in simplicity—proof that the right ingredients, treated with care, need little embellishment. Everything tasted better than ever.
Their close knit community of vendors shuffled in and out with deliveries, pausing sometimes for a coffee. A local pasticceria owner brings a selection of cakes everyday just before service, including an elegant chocolate pear that always disappears before the end of lunch. I managed to steal a moment with Maria and Arturo to chat about their 10-month hiatus. They had spent the downtime at their home in Val Tidone, a tranquil spot about an hour and a half south of Milan, where Arturo tends to an expansive vegetable garden—their eventual retirement haven. They are well-rested and hopeful people will continue to line up for more than just the buzzy spaghetti al limone with spicy fresh pepper (Maria will tell you to mix it well when it hits your table, no Parmigiano!) when they eventually leave again. But Arturo is certain Maria will never leave Milan, and grazie a dio, neither will La Latteria.
