In the heart of Panzano, a tiny Tuscan village of just over 1,000 souls, stands an unassuming butcher shop that has become a pilgrimage site for food lovers worldwide. Here, Dario Cecchini—an eighth-generation butcher whose family has practised the craft in the same spot for 250 years—works tirelessly from dawn to dusk, seven days a week. Through his hands, the humblest cuts of meat are transformed into dishes that honour both tradition and innovation, earning him recognition from the likes of Anthony Bourdain and The New York Times, which dubbed him “The World’s Greatest Butcher”.
But what does a title like that entail? I spend a day at his Singaporean outpost at the Mondrian Singapore Duxton, Bottega di Carna, to understand the man behind the cheeky moustache, and experience just what 250 years of heritage tastes like.
ESQUIRE SINGAPORE: Who is Dario Cecchini?
DARIO CECCHINI: I come from a very tiny village in Panzano—there are not even 1,000 people in our village. I’m the butcher of our little town, and I continue to be just that. There’s no director of our butcher shop, no manager—it’s just me running everything.
By 7 or 8 o’clock in the morning, I’d already spent an hour on the phone organising all the work and setting up the day. I work every day, seven days a week, usually for 13 or 14 hours a day.
There’s no holiday, no days off unless I’m travelling for work. But it’s not just about keeping things going to make more money. My family has been butchers for eight generations—that’s 250 years of doing the same work in the same place. Next year will mark my 50th year as a butcher in my shop in Panzano.
ESQ: What does it mean to be a famous butcher?
DAR: Our town is starting to become well-known, even famous, partly thanks to our butcher shop. For me, being called famous is important only because it brings more people to my little town. That’s what matters to me.
It’s nice when I’m travelling outside my town, and someone recognises me—on a plane, for example and they ask for a picture. I always joke and say, “Come to Ponzano first, then we’ll take a picture.”
So, being famous, for me, is about representing my community. We’re so small [that] we need to show up in some way.
ESQ: Do you have any stories of your community?
DAR: I rarely sit down for lunch or dinner, but there’s a single moment in my day when I take a break. Every day, I pass by my barber around the corner—just 50 metres from my shop. He’s 84 years old, and every day he insists that I come in.
He doesn’t want me to pay him. He says, “You represent our town. Your moustache has to look good, and your hair has to look good because you represent all of us.” When I’m out of town, I have to send him a picture so he knows everything’s okay. (It’s not okay right now—the humidity is a challenge!)
My barber says, “I’ve become famous at 84 years old thanks to you.” He’s even ended up in tour guidebooks. “Go to the butcher and the barber,” it says. So, that’s what makes me happy if someone wants to call me famous.
ESQ: Is there a cut of meat that’s underrated? Or something people should appreciate more?
DAR: Growing up, we ate all the cuts that were harder to sell in the shop—trotters, muzzle, blood. My grandmother would turn these into beautiful dishes. But it wasn’t just about saving money; it was about respecting the animal and not wasting anything.
I didn’t eat my first T-bone steak until my 18th birthday. That was a special gift, symbolising my transition from boyhood to manhood.
One of my favourite dishes at our restaurant in Panzano is boiled beef knees. Chef Kenny here in Singapore does a fantastic job with them too. You boil the knees, which have both meat and tendon, and use the broth to make a warm salad with julienned carrots, onions, and celery.
ESQ: Do you have a must-eat dish for all visitors coming to Bottega di Carna?
DAR: For sure—tartare. My tartare. Another standout menu item is Chef Kenny’s Oxtail Agnolotti. These are butcher’s cuts, and they’re truly special. It’s hard to choose, but those are two of my favourites.
ESQ: What about a dish that holds the most sentimental value for you?
DAR: Being a butcher is perhaps one of the most difficult jobs in the food world. We’re talking about taking the life of an animal. It’s our responsibility to ensure the animals have a good life and a compassionate death.
For me, our tartare represents that respect. It’s made from one of the toughest cuts of the animal—not the tenderest. We take this hard-working muscle, full of flavour, and tenderise it into a beautiful dish.
It symbolises the work of a butcher—carefully choosing and preparing a cut so that it’s absolutely delicious. It’s a way to honour the animal and show that every part can be equally special.
ESQ: I know you’ve served many big names like Anthony Bourdain and Stevie Wonder. Do you have a favourite customer or any memorable stories?
DAR: Actually, Anthony Bourdain would probably be that person. The last time he came to our shop for lunch was just a week before he passed away. I gave him one of my aprons as a gift and tied it around his head.
We were friends. I remember waving goodbye to him—it was springtime—as he walked away down the road. I said, “Antonio, we’ll see you in August for your next holiday.” That was the last time we saw him. He was a very special person.
But you’ve probably already surmised this based on the brief conversation we shared. Typically, interviews like these undergo considerable condensation and polishing for the sake of clarity and flow. Yet, I felt little edits were necessary here. Cecchini and I don’t speak the same language—his tongue Italian, mine Chinese, with no common bridge in English. His words were carried to me entirely through the graceful translation of his wife. Yet, as we sat diagonally across from one another at a small square table in his restaurant, Bottega di Carna, I realised we didn’t need words for me to grasp his passion and character. His warm smile, gesticulating hands, an excerpt from The Divine Comedy printed on the menu, and even his business card—tucked with salt as a traditional gift symbolising good luck—all spoke to me.
This theme of translation—of words, of passion, of emotions—would echo throughout my experience at his restaurant. As dusk settled and the space gradually filled with members of the media, it was time to explore the dishes Cecchini had so passionately described.
The meal began with a flourish: Dario’s Signature Steak Tartare, the dish to which he attaches the most sentimental value to due to how it encapsulates his zero-waste philosophy. The leanest and toughest cuts of beef are given new life here, though you’d never guess from tasting it. Each component stands out yet works in harmony—Chianti salt unlocks the beef’s natural flavour, lemon adds a vibrant brightness, and Tuscan olive oil coats the back of my tongue.
A standout element is the Beef tendon—a cut uncommon in Italian cuisine reimagined through an arduous process of freezing and frying to create delicate cracker puffs which add textural contrast. The flavours in the dish aren’t intense, far from it—they’re subtle, almost meditative. I had to close my eyes to extract the flavours of the tartare, but in doing so, helped me discern how each ingredient elevated the others. Raw, honest, and unpretentious, it’s no wonder this is Cecchini’s signature dish.
The Basket Tortelli follows up satisfyingly like a warm embrace. The al dente pasta, slightly gummy to the bite, cradles a hearty butternut squash and pumpkin filling, while a pool of Parmigiano Reggiano fondue blankets each piece. Sweetness from the squash meets the creamy, nutty depth of the cheese, achieving a remarkable balance of flavours—all without a hint of meat. Not bad for a butcher.
Next came the Oxtail Agnolotti. In this dish, six-hour-braised oxtail is infused with herbs and vegetables, blended into a velvety filling, and encased in pasta. These parcels float in a capon consommé—a broth made from castrated rooster, known for its richer and slightly sweeter flavour, as Chef de Cuisine Kenny Huang notes whimsically. The robust broth, in contrast with tender Agnolotti creates a deeply comforting bite that’s equally as indulgent.
No visit to Bottega di Carna would be complete without mentioning the Fiorentina T-Bone Bistecca. Before it escapes me, let it be known that the restaurant only uses premium cuts of beef flown in from Viñals Soler, a venerable Spanish butchery with over a century of heritage. My portion was done rarer than I’d prefer, but when the quality of the meat is that high, doneness becomes almost an afterthought. Succulent, well-marbled, and buttery, with a distinct dry-aged funk that emerged with each chew—this was simply put, an excellent steak.
Cecchini, with his warm-hearted smile, mischievous eyes, and unlimited knowledge, is a sort of magister of the flesh. In the same way, my interview with him was translated through his wife, Bottega Di Carna served as a vessel in which his culinary philosophy was seamlessly communicated—respectful, comforting, and sustainable. What you eat from Cecchini are monuments of a tradition, but in the same way, they do not retrace the entire road— choosing a more conscious and poetic attitude towards his love for butchery.
