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Saturday lunchtime. By 12.30 a long, wide queue stretches out of the door. Regulars squeeze along the side of it and inside, straight to the bar to order - remarking to others that everyone's waiting in line, but hardly anyone's inside. Only the uninitiated wait in line. We eat steaming, freshly cooked polpette, cicheti with robiola, truffle and mushroom; baccala mantecato; wines: various(!) By 2.30pm the counter is clean - nothing left. The staff has been working like a robotic symphony until the Chiuso sign is put up and they can take two minutes to breathe. Disappointed latecomers are turned away, but not before they're brought placating glasses of wine outside by cutie Matteo. Now quiet, door closed, only a few regulars remaining, standing amongst the fluttering piles of little white napkins - discussing the meat of the day, the phenomenon of the queue, one last ombra to send you on your way...
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