Venice is a city that enchants with its labyrinth of canals and historic palaces and churches and bridges. But beyond the postcard-perfect scenery lies a culinary tradition that locals and visitors cherish: cicchetti. These bite-sized snacks, often enjoyed with a glass of wine or spritz, are the heart of Venetian socializing. You’ll find them in bacari, Venice’s cozy wine bars, scattered across the city like hidden gems. Each bacaro has its own twist on cicchetti, but some stand out more than others.
One evening, I found myself at Al Merca’, a tiny bacaro tucked into the corner of a bustling square by the canal. Its charm lies in its simplicity: no frills, just a window where locals gather for drinks and snacks. The cicchetti here are straightforward: slices of bread topped with cured meats or spreads, and their famous polpette—meatballs made from tuna, eggplant, or beef. The prices were almost too good to be true: €4 for a spritz or wine and €2 for cicchetti or polpette.
I ordered a spritz and a few cicchetti to start. The drink was refreshing, easily worth twice the price. The food? Well, let’s just say it didn’t steal the show. A few slices of prosciutto on uninspired bread didn’t exactly excite my palate—it felt like something hastily thrown together for kids after soccer practice. The polpette were better but still unremarkable. Yet somehow, none of this mattered. What made Al Merca’ special wasn’t the food: it was the atmosphere. Locals leaned against the walls, laughing and chatting as they shared drinks and bites. It wasn’t about culinary perfection; it was about connection.
A short walk away, I stumbled upon Osteria Bancogiro—a more contemporary take on the traditional bacaro experience. Unlike Al Merca’, Bancogiro offers both window service and a sit-down restaurant inside. Here, cicchetti took on a new life: seafood-forward creations with spreads of squid ink, fresh fish, and hearty meats piled generously onto open-faced bread slices. At €2 apiece, these felt like a steal—not just in quantity but in quality. The squid cicchetti stood out with its rich sauce and fresh flavors that lingered long after each bite.
The vibe at Bancogiro was electric—a younger crowd filled the space, laughing and chatting with bartenders who seemed to know everyone by name. It felt less like dining and more like joining an impromptu party where strangers became friends over spritzes and cicchetti. As I watched people greet each other with hugs and songs, I couldn’t help but feel swept up in their joy.
That night in Venice wasn’t about food—it was about belonging. The square where these two bacari sit came alive as locals spilled out into the streets, their laughter echoing through the canals. As a foreigner, I expected to feel like an outsider; instead, I was welcomed with open arms and an arm around my shoulder as someone asked me what I thought of their city.
Cicchetti may not be gourmet masterpieces, but they’re so much more than just snacks—they’re an invitation to experience Venice as Venetians do: sharing food, drinks, and stories under the stars.
