The family meal–the food cooked by the staff, for the staff–is a ritual entrenched in the fabric of the restaurant scene. As with all things food, in Italy, this ritual is sacred. To witness it–to pop into your local trattoria and stumble across this scene–is like walking in on your crush… naked. 

Sergio is the capo of Da Adolfo, a restaurant nestled in the cliffs between Positano and Amalfi in a cove so small you’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look. It was only when his father, Adolfo, was zipping past in one of the first Riva boats (post-war he made money as a water-skiing instructor) that he noticed this wild and secluded spot. The beach was a visceral reminder of his time spent craving freedom as a Prisoner of War in Crete, and Laurito beach soon became Adolfo’s place.

Built out of the sand by the team every spring and deconstructed once the first tempesta (storm) arrives in autumn, the meaning of staff–family–is taken to a whole new level at Da Adolfo. From building the restaurant and the pier to lugging wheelie bins of rubbish on and off boats, the work is varied and intense–as one might expect from a restaurant that is almost exclusively accessible by sea… unless you’re bold enough to take on 200+ steps, that is. There is no fixed role here. It starts raining cats and dogs (or great danes, as the locals joke) and Sergio, with one gesture, motions to the team that it’s time to start digging a channel down the beach. A restaurant at the bottom of a cliff is no laughing matter when torrents of water come cascading down, and the clients–the real ones at least–know that the zuppe di cozze (mussels soup) can wait.

Along the Amalfi Coast, working at Da Adolfo has become a rite of passage for many of the locals. They arrive as boys and leave as men, and it is Sergio–and now his son Marco–whose deeply entrenched values and sheer force of will hold this family of staff together. To witness a group of Italians, sixteen to sixty-five, come together in barefoot commotion is like finding yourself at the door of Alcott’s Little Women at Christmas lunch. Real and honest, if someone lets the family down, they’ll know it, and so will you. Sergio, much like the sea he loves, can be tempestuous and unpredictable, but beneath the surface he holds an ocean of kindness for those he calls family.

In a world of increasing deception, where what one sees is often carefully constructed to mask an underbelly of darker realities, Da Adolfo is a welcome reminder of life–raw, messy, and usually better spent barefoot. I have a sneaking suspicion that the countless celebrities don’t just come for the exceptional food, but in fact for those precious, secluded hours at lunch when they feel a part of the bel casino of family.

Once the last semifreddo has been served–no earlier than 4 PM–and the kitchens cleaned, the staff emerge as if from battle, unrecognisable, running into the silver-blue sea beneath the restaurant in heady relief that they survived another day. And so begins the sacred hour.

Back in the kitchen, a clamour of boys and men drink Peroni and smoke cigarettes from the kitchen doorway. Impatiently they watch and wait, the late afternoon sun kissing their backs as pools of water form beneath their feet. Today, it’s Antonio over the fires, a wooden spoon in each hand as he meditatively looks over the soffritto. “Per la squadra facciamo tutto con il cuore” (“For the team we do everything with heart”), he tells me as he adds the zucca. “And everything we cook is traditional… qui non facciamo cazzate” (“We don’t mess around here”). 

There is a deep sense of pride in the way he performs this simple human act, preparing food for the people he calls family. “Oggi facimm ‘o risotto cu’ ‘a zucca e ‘a sasiccia. Magnammo buono ccà ‘n Campania, eh!”  (“We eat well here in Campania, eh!”) Today’s family meal? Risotto with pumpkin and sausage. 

As the boys pull chairs and tables together across the pebbles to form one long table, others bring down stacks of plates and handfuls of cutlery from the kitchen. Sweating cans of Coca-Cola and Peroni emerge from the bar, along with big loaves of bread (a true Italian knows not only the importance of scarpetta, but the necessity of it). Sergio, brow burrowed in his mighty reservation book, occasionally glances up to check no-one is acting out of the pecking order. Only Beppe–one of the longest members of the Da Adolfo family–is sitting at the table in anticipation. 

To sit at the table post-service for the family meal is not a given; it’s a privilege one has to earn. But, once earnt, Sergio will protect your right to be there, undisturbed. Any attempt to approach the staff during this sacred hour will have your legs trembling as if you had indeed arrived by the steps. “Il pasto del personale è sacrosanto, nun t’azzardà a mettette ‘mmiezzo.” (“The staff meal is sacrosanct, don’t you dare get in the way.”) 

“Pigliami ‘o parmigiano” (“Pass me the Parmigiano”), instructs Antonio, and the boys–aware that this signifies the final stage of the dish, la parte di mantecare–oblige before moving from the doorway toward the table. They’re not the only ones. The smell of sausage drifting down from the kitchen has woken the cats from their sun-soaked slumber and they gather around Beppe. An essential part of the family, this is their sacred hour too. 

Antonio appears from the kitchen, big bubbling risotto in the pan, and lollops barefoot down the stairs. Steaming plates of creamy risotto are passed from person to person and bread torn from the loaf as more of the team gather. And finally, after hours of noise, clatter, and conversation, there is silence but for the sound of forks against plates and distant waves lapping at pebbles below. This is sacrosanct; this is The Family Meal.

Da Adolfo is open May – October. Reservations can only be made over the phone: +39 089 875022. Look for the boat with the little red fish at the pier in Positano; it’s a 10 minute ride along the coast. Alternatively, you can take the steps beneath the San Pietro hotel.  

Risotto alla Zucca e Salsiccia

Serves 4 (hungry), Serves 6 (primi)

INGREDIENTS

• 100ml sunflower oil 
• 1 onion, diced 
• 400g butternut squash, diced into small cubes
• 320g (about 4 chunky) good-quality pork sausages, removed from their skin
• One small glass of white wine (larger if cooking makes you thirsty) 
• 1.25 litres vegetable stock 
• 400g arborio rice
• A few handfuls of parsley, finely chopped 
• 100g finely grated Parmesan cheese (ideally not pre-grated!)
• Salt and pepper

PREPARATION 

1. Heat the oil in a wide heavy-based pan and sautè the onion until soft but not coloured. In a separate deep pan, bring the stock up to simmering point (feel free to throw in any cut-offs from the onion and squash, along with any carrots or celery you have that need using up).
2. Once the onion is soft, mix the sausage into the pan and lightly fry for a few minutes before adding the white wine. Cook until the wine is almost absorbed and then add the squash, stirring for 2-3 minutes. 
3. Add the risotto rice to the pan of sausage and squash and mix, waiting for the rice to toast slightly and turn almost transparent before adding the first ladle of simmering stock. 
4. Keep adding stock, one ladle at a time, adding the next only when the previous has been absorbed. You need to stir continuously–a risotto appreciates a good massage. 
5. After roughly 20-25 minutes, it should be creamy with only a hint of a bite in the rice, and the squash should be soft and sweet. Stir in the grated parmesan and the parsley, and mantecare (whip) the risotto into a blissful, bubbling perfection.
6. Serve subito and drizzle with olio nuovo or a sprinkling of parmesan and fresh black pepper. The perfect plate for an autumnal Sunday.

The Family Meal by Isobel C Giles is a recipe book featuring the meals cooked by the staff, for the staff, in restaurants all over Italy–from mountains to cities to the sea–and will be published next year.