Heavenly. Dreamlike. Magical. For a pasta lover, not much tops Oca Pastificio.  

It was literally one hour into tomato season at Oca Pastificio and we—my coworkers Frances, Jillian, Kristen, and I—had found ourselves at the best seat in the house. We were at Vancouver’s most coveted Italian restaurant, sipping Dolcetto d’Alba, about to embark on the pasta tasting menu. There’s a reason people line up for this place.

Tomato and burrata at Oca Pastificio
Tomato, burrata, basil, and onion 

 

Four Cheese Tortelli at Oca Pastificio
Four-cheese rotolo with sage and butter 

 

Gnocchi with pesto and pinenuts at Oca Pastificio
Gnocchi with pesto and pinenuts 

 

Taglierini with Sungold tomato
Taglierini with Sungold tomato 

 

Zucchini salad
Zucchini and greens

 

Spaghetti with duck ragout at Oca Pastificio
Spaghetti (?) with duck ragout 

 

Semifreddo with crushed almonds
Semifreddo with crushed almonds

After two hours of savouring every bite, we paid our bill ($118 per person after tax and tip) and floated out the door in a pasta dream state. 

Highlights for me were their signature rotolo dish, where the four-cheese filling was pillowy like merengue, and the Sungold tomato taglierini, which had an almost lobster-like flavour. Both dishes surprised me with their less is more approach to pasta.

The ambiance at Oca was intimate, vibrant, yet casual, as if we were at a friend’s dinner party in a tiny  apartment. With only 22 seats in a 900 sqf space, it’s not all that far off. Antoine, co-owner and front-of-house leader, made sure we had VIP treatment. Though I’m sure it helped that Frances had been there many times before.

The only challenge I had was not fully hearing what was served to us as it arrived. Was that tagliatele he said? Taglierini? I heard duck ragout, but I didn’t hear the pasta. Etc. Menus aren’t posted online, they’re only on the chalkboard by the bar, yet are totally irrelevent for a tasting menu anyway: every item is explained verbally as it is brought to the table.

Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter. It was all glorious. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

You might also enjoy:

Leave A Comment

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.