We opened Salìna in a former fishing-net workshop in Malfa, on the island that gave us our name. Everything in the room was already on this island — or made by someone an hour's boat ride away.
Lia grew up here. Vito came to spend a summer and never went back to Bologna. We took over the shop from her uncle in the spring of 2019, painted the walls with island lime, and put the cellar where the nets used to dry. The first night we opened, twelve people came. Six were related to us.
We pour wines made by people who farm without herbicide, who don't add things they don't need to, who pick by hand because the slope is too steep for a tractor. Most of them live within sight of our front door. A few are old friends from the mainland. None of them are famous.
The kitchen is small and we like it that way. We cook a handful of things very carefully, with ingredients that come from people we know by their first name. The menu changes when the fisherman calls, or when Nonna Lia decides the tomatoes are wrong this week.
— Lia & Vito
Wines made by hand, fermented with wild yeast, bottled with as little added as possible.
Almost everything we serve comes from less than a hundred kilometres of where you are sitting.
Six to nine plates on any given night. Cooked one at a time, in a small copper pan.
One long table for everybody. You will probably end up eating with the table next to you.
The list changes most weeks. Bottles run out, fish runs in, a vineyard up the hill calls to say the new vintage is ready. This is what is on the table for the week of 27 Maggio.
A handful of pictures, mostly taken by friends who came to dinner and stayed late. Click to see them larger.

We hold about half the room for walk-ins and the other half for reservations. In summer the second half goes faster than the first. The form below is a real one — we will hold the table the moment you finish it.
Twenty-four seats inside, twelve on the terrace, one long oak table at the back for groups. Reservations strongly suggested in summer.
We are flattered, mostly. We try not to read it during service.
The kind of room you stumble into and somehow stay until midnight, dressed in olive oil and conversation.
Lia and Vito have built something that feels found, not designed — a wine bar that is, quietly, one of the most assured rooms in Italy.
A salty, sun-soft cellar list with a serious bias toward what grows nearby. Drink wide here.
We close to the public a handful of nights each season. Long tables, our cellar opened wide, a menu written for your party. Anniversaries, intimate weddings, the occasional book launch, the very occasional small revolution.