Enjoy Traditional Italian & Roman Cuisine

The Romans are coming! It must have been 2005 or 2006—I couldn’t tell you with certainty. The Formula One Grand Prix years in Montreal blur together like high-speed laps under champagne-fueled skies. Who can truly recall the precise contours of nights spun in such giddy, golden excess? What I do remember is this: it was F1 Friday, and Sylvie and I were dressed to the nines at the lobby bar of the Vogue Hotel. The bubbles were cold, the conversation crisp. And then, suddenly—like thunder rolling in from the hills of Modena—a storm of exuberant, impeccably dressed Italian Ferrari fans burst through the doors. Their entrance was operatic: tanned skin, tightly tailored shirts, and that unmistakable scent of Giorgio Armani, as if the man himself had sent them from Milan with a kiss on each cheek. And ladies—if that’s not heaven-sent, I don’t know what is. Before long, we found ourselves swept into the night, chauffeured in black Escalades to Da Emma, the legendary subterranean Roman restaurant tucked beneath the streets of Old Montreal. There, as we descended the steps, with a big grin, was Nazarene – cool and composed, welcoming and ushering us to the front half of the restaurant reserved for what might best be described as a beautiful riot: car enthusiasts from New York, Toronto, Miami, and Detroit, all drawn together by the roar of engines and the lure of Montreal women and Italian hospitality. The wine flowed—Amar ones, Brunello, deep and confident. The dishes arrived one after another in steady procession, no menu needed. Laughter rose like incense, curling into every brick of that dimly lit room. We drank, we dined, we rejoiced like gods on borrowed time. And then—something strange happened. In the thick of this glorious, cacophonous madness, the room fell completely still. A silence, pure and unanticipated, descended over us like a fine mist. Glasses paused midair. Forks froze, suspended like tiny sculptures of anticipation. I was completely terrified. And then, the door to the kitchen creaked open, and she appeared. Emma. She emerged like a revelation. In the moments that followed, it’s as if the Montreal Canadians had won the Stanley Cup and the quiet gave way to the most raucous, joyful eruption I have ever witnessed in a dining room. Whistles, whoops, tears, table slaps, clinking glasses—a standing ovation from a room drunk not only on wine, but on reverence. She stood there, small in stature and mighty in soul, overwhelmed, tears streaming, beaming with the quiet dignity of someone who has fed thousands and remembers every face. At that moment, I understood something elemental: this wasn’t about food. This was about lineage. About a love that’s kneaded into the dough, steeped in the sauce, whispered through every stirring spoon. The reverence wasn’t for a celebrity chef or a trendy eatery. It was for a matriarch, for a craft passed down like prayer, and for the kind of authenticity that the culinary world so often romanticizes but rarely encounters. Fast-forward to last night. I found myself, once again, in the embrace of Roman cuisine—though the invitation had been charmingly vague. My sidekick, Madame Pag, insisted we were off to a Romanian restaurant (close enough, we agreed, over laughter and wine). We were to meet her neighbor, a kind and hospitable gentleman named Luca. The VERY handsome Luca, it turns out, is the son of Olga Aureli—Emma’s daughter. Olga now stands in the kitchen where her mother once reigned, carrying forward the legacy with the same grace and tenacious love. The food is still simple, still soul-warming. Still Roman. So, As Grand Prix week gears up once again in Montreal, and as the city prepares to open its doors, bottles, and hearts to the world, I offer this small reminder: Behind every magical night, behind every unforgettable plate, there is someone—often invisible—who gives all of themselves so that we might eat, laugh, and feel alive. To them, be generous. Be respectful. Be kind. They are, after all, the ones who turn ordinary nights into legendary ones. I was honoured to be able to share MY legendary story with the DaEmma family last night ( Merci Steph!) and to have been a part of such an incredible moment in the first place. Dio vi benedica Emma. 🙏 Here’s hoping there will be many more! Happy F1GP Montreal.🥂