The host stands at a sculptural marble post, grounded and still: you were expected. The first moment is one of shedding—of weather, of noise, of rush. During meals, an ombra—referred to in the restaurant as Un Rito—is served between primi and secondi: a palate-cleansing drink, alcoholic or not. It’s a moment of reset, of marking time. Guests don’t flow through the space; they move into rhythm with it. And here, everything is made by hand—pasta, brodo, the smallest garnish—because for Funke, food is sustenance as gesture, tradition held in the present tense. It is care made visible. Materials are tactile and imperfect: scratched marble, hand-carved wood, patinated brass. Tables are left bare of linen. Every detail is curated, but never precious. Restrained material choices favor Italian modernism: stone, wood, and time-worn surfaces. Scale, light, and stillness do the work. Leaving ombra feels like a transition, not a conclusion. It is a gesture that trusts the interior work has been done.