At Vinspiration, we believe that one of the best ways to truly connect with a place is through its food. Flavors, scents, colors and ingredients all tell the story of a region’s terroir, climate, and cultural history. We asked our guides to share a culinary experience that left a lasting impression — a dish and a moment they’ll never forget. The kind you dream of recreating, or returning to.
Agnolotti del Plin in Piedmont
By Eviatar Baram
Though I’m a die-hard Francophile, Vinspiration somehow turned me into a full-on Italy guy — and I have no complaints. I’m especially obsessed with one corner of the country: Piedmont, a wine region like no other, where the food and the wine are so intertwined it feels almost surgical. The bold, structured reds of Barolo and Barbaresco demand dishes that can match their depth, acidity, and power — without sacrificing elegance.
If I had to pick just one dish to represent Piedmontese cuisine, it would be agnolotti del plin. The name comes from the local dialect for “pinch” — the way the pasta parcels are sealed. I first encountered them as a waiter in a restaurant in Jerusalem, where they were described to me as “like ravioli, only better.” There, they were filled with ricotta and bryndza cheese, served on spinach cream with dried black olives. The dish was wildly popular.
Years later, on my first wine trip to Piedmont, my partner took me to the source. At a traditional osteria in Alba, we ordered agnolotti filled with a rich ragù of veal, rabbit, and pork, topped with sage brown butter and a generous shaving of fresh white truffle. We ate them every single day for six days straight, but the version we had at Osteria dell’Arco was simply unforgettable. Rustic, intense, and unapologetically true to the region — this dish still wins by a landslide.
A Simple Plate of Pasta in Montalcino
By Orit Greenboim Liron
I spent only two nights in Montalcino, but the memory has lasted far longer. The town itself is the heart of southern Tuscany’s wine region — home to some of Italy’s most age-worthy and revered reds, made entirely from Sangiovese and aged for a minimum of five years before release.
It’s a beautiful hilltop village, with a clock tower in the center that the locals are oddly proud of. It rings five minutes before the hour, on the hour, ten minutes after the hour, and on the half hour — day and night. I know this intimately, having unwittingly booked a room right next to it.
A short walk from the tower, I stumbled on a restaurant with the familiar Michelin mascot out front — always a good sign. I called repeatedly until someone finally answered and confirmed there was a table available that evening. The place was called Taverna Grappolo Blu, or “Blue Grape Cluster.”
I wasn’t too hungry, so I asked for just one dish. “Bring me whatever’s best,” I told the waiter. Fifteen minutes and one glass of Brunello later, a plate of fresh pasta arrived, dressed simply in cherry tomatoes, basil, and local olive oil. It looked modest, but the flavor — oh, the flavor — was divine. Sitting there alone with that perfect pasta and that perfect glass of wine, I was probably the happiest person in town. Until the clock chimed again.
A Table in Portugal
By Roni Saslove
My favorite memories of Portugal revolve around food — not just dishes, but the hospitality and warmth that surrounds them. Each time I visit, I’m invited to a home-cooked meal, where the dining table is the heart of the house.
Food in Portugal, like in many cultures, is not just sustenance. It’s a pillar of identity. Every recipe carries a history, every bite tells a story.
On my last visit, in November, my dear friend Ricardo pulled a rustic-looking loaf of bread out of an old wood-fired oven. At first glance, it looked like nothing special. But once he sliced it open, it revealed a molten center of aromatic, farmhouse sheep cheeses — melting together into a gooey, decadent pool.
The smell alone transported me back to walking along the Douro River, surrounded by vineyards. The taste? It still visits me in my dreams.
French Elegance in Alsace
By Guy Haran
Winding through the cobbled alleys of Riquewihr after a wine tasting, we stepped through a discreet gate into a restaurant where everything was Bordeaux and wood — warm, cozy, and deeply French. This was La Table du Gourmet, home to chef Jean-Luc Brendel and his wife Fabienne, who greets every guest with a generous smile.
The menu changes daily, depending on the weather, the season, and the chef’s mood. Most of the produce is harvested just steps from the kitchen — fresh vegetables, herbs, fruits — all grown in the restaurant’s own gardens.
Here, vegetables are the stars of the plate. Fruits make you fall in love. The chef simply gets out of the way and lets the ingredients shine. The restaurant has one Michelin star, but in my opinion, it deserves at least two.
