Emiliano Chiocchio Emiliano Chiocchio

Some places are not simply restaurants, but points of origin. Spaces where a product is not merely served, but takes shape, acquires language and becomes recognisable. La Pratolina, in Rome, belongs to this category. In the contemporary story of pinsa romana, the restaurant on Via degli Scipioni holds a particular, almost symbolic position: not only because it was among the first to believe in that new, lighter and more hydrated dough, but because it still preserves its memory today without turning it into a museum piece. Emiliano Chiocchio speaks about pinsa with the tone of someone who knows it from the oven, not from theory. He does not look for absolute formulas, he does not build rigid definitions, and he does not hide behind the rhetoric of origins. He knows that a living product changes, breathes and reacts to the environment, to temperature, to humidity, to the gesture of the person working it. For this reason, when he speaks about La Pratolina, his language immediately becomes concrete. Pinsa is not an abstract idea, but a dough that must be followed from its birth to its arrival at the table.

The story, as it was passed on to him by Fabio Cicchetti, the former owner of La Pratolina, has something romantic about it. We are at the beginning of the 2000s. Corrado Di Marco is working on a new type of dough and looking for people willing not only to buy a product, but to believe in an evolution. He speaks with Fabio Cicchetti, with whom there is a relationship of friendship and trust. Cicchetti accepts the challenge, decides to try, to change the shape, to push hydration higher, to work on a longer leavening process than the usual standards. It is there that pinsa begins to become not just a technical experiment, but a gastronomic project. In this dynamic, La Pratolina soon takes on the role of laboratory and outpost. Yet pinsa does not immediately explode as a national or international phenomenon. Emiliano is very clear about this point: the real success, the widespread and recognisable one that brought the product beyond Rome and Lazio, is much more recent. For years, pinsa remained a local discovery, an intuition known by enthusiasts, professionals and curious customers. Then came the expansion, the diffusion of the flour mix, the work of Corrado Di Marco in bringing the product across Italy and around the world. Today pinsa is present in faraway cities, in international markets and even in Naples, the symbolic home of Italian pizza. For Emiliano, this detail says a great deal: seeing pinsa romana accepted even there means that the product has overcome scepticism and conquered its own autonomous space.

And yet, precisely when a product grows and spreads, the risk is that it loses precision. The word pinsa can become a generic label, an oval shape, a promise of lightness without the necessary rigour. Emiliano insists instead on substance. When he imagines a perfect pinsa, he starts from very clear sensory elements: crunch, melt-in-the-mouth texture, moisture, hydration, bubbles and crust. These are visual and tactile details even before they become matters of taste. A pinsa must already speak when it reaches the table: through its edge, its alveolation, its fragrance, and that tension between structure and softness that distinguishes it from other leavened products. In his view, pinsa is never a fully standardisable product. Even when following the production rules, even when respecting times, flours, maturation and stretching, the result can change. Those who work every day in front of the ovens know this well. Small differences in refrigerator temperature during maturation, variations in the environment after the dough balls are formed, slightly different leavening times, a warmer or more humid evening: all of these can make the dough respond differently. This is not a defect, but proof of its artisanal nature.

“A living product changes, breathes and reacts.”

Emiliano describes this aspect with great honesty. A batch of fifty or sixty dough balls will never be identical from the beginning to the end of service. The first ones will behave in one way, the last ones in another. By the end of the evening, the pinsa changes, modifies itself and asks the pinsaiolo for continuous interpretation. This is where craftsmanship enters. It is not enough to apply a procedure: one must feel the dough, observe it, correct it, anticipate it. The hand, experience and the ability to adapt become decisive. In the end, the perfect pinsa is not only the one described by the rules, but the one that reaches the guest at its best moment.

One of the central themes of the interview is the relationship between pre-baking and express service. Here too, Emiliano avoids dogmatic positions. La Pratolina does not usually work with pre-baked bases, although on more complex evenings it may decide to prepare part of the work in advance, around forty per cent of the bases, in order to manage service better. But his personal preference is clear: he comes from the world of pizza, and for this reason he feels the express pinsa to be more authentic. He finds it more fragrant, darker, higher, more alive in its imprint. Pre-baked pinsa certainly has advantages: it can offer more consistent crunch, it simplifies certain stages of service and allows faster management when the restaurant is under pressure. But according to Emiliano, express pinsa gives back something different: more expressive alveolation, fuller presence, more immediate fragrance. It is not a question of right or wrong, but of sensitivity. Each method has its strengths and its critical points. Pre-baking guarantees control; express service requires more attention, but can offer a more intense personality.

This discussion leads to the heart of pinsa as a contemporary artisanal product. On one side there is the production discipline, with its rules, parameters, minimum maturation, stretching on rice flour. On the other there is real service, the kitchen, the table, the guest waiting. Between these two poles lies the daily work of those who must turn a technique into an experience. Rice flour, twenty-four hours of maturation, high hydration, shape, oven management: everything contributes to creating a product that previously did not exist in the collective imagination. For this reason, Emiliano recognises in Corrado Di Marco a great intuition. Not only the creation of an effective flour mix, but the ability to imagine a different possibility within the world of leavened doughs. Pinsa has managed to enter a space between pizza, focaccia and other baked products, building its own grammar. It is smaller, more oval, airier, immediately recognisable. But shape alone is not enough. What makes it interesting is the combination of lightness, crunch, digestibility and the ability to support toppings without losing identity.

At La Pratolina, this awareness also becomes a cultural mission. Emiliano says it with moderation, without excessive emphasis: telling the story of pinsa means bringing a different message. It is not always easy, especially with foreign guests who do not know the product and may automatically associate it with pizza. One has to explain, invite them to taste, make them understand that this is not a copy or a lesser variation, but another path. In this sense, service and storytelling become an integral part of the experience. One of the anecdotes that makes him most proud concerns Neapolitans. Making someone from the symbolic capital of pizza appreciate a Roman pinsa is, for him, a small victory. Not because of opposition, but because of recognition. Neapolitan pizza has a history, an identity and an immense cultural strength. Pinsa romana does not need to compete on that ground: it needs to be understood for what it is. When a Neapolitan tastes it, overcomes prejudice and recognises the quality of the product, Emiliano feels that the message has arrived.

The 2025 Guide to the Best Pinserie in the World recognised La Pratolina as one of the absolute references on the international scene, placing it on the podium of the Top 10. It is a result that rewards not only the quality of the product, but also the historical weight of the restaurant and its ability to remain contemporary. Because being among the first is not enough. History can open a road, but then one must walk it every day, with the same attention, the same rigour and the same willingness to question oneself.

In the end, for Emiliano, a perfect pinsa is not merely the sum of technical parameters. It is crunch and melt-in-the-mouth texture, alveoli and edge, maturation and stretching, but also the ability to reach the table at the right moment. It is a dough that has passed through time, temperature and skilled hands. It is a product that carries a Roman story, but now speaks many languages. And perhaps this is where its most contemporary charm lies: in its ability to be at once root and movement, discipline and instinct, memory and future.