Menu? What menu? You get whatever's in the pot at this dimly lit place. Munch on the theatrically large breadsticks while you wait for an array of antipasti to arrive, then try to keep up as the dishes mount up. Walls are bedecked with football memorabilia and B&W snaps of bearded wartime partisans look over rowdy tables of locals.
Beat the queues by going right at opening time to score a table. Reservations not accepted.