Indulge in Authentic Roman Flavors of Campione: A Culinary NYT Top 50 Greatest Restaurants in America Journey to Remember

On the corner of Callender and Main, where the wind gathers leaves like secrets and the candy wrappers scratch at the stone like memory, Campione Roman Kitchen sits folded into the curve of Livingston’s downtown. The building is sky-blue brick, slightly recessed, and the light—when it’s right—spills across the façade like a held breath. I walked past it once before noticing the clap of leaves caught under the eaves. There was no menu posted. Only a dim interior, prep cooks quietly moving through the kitchen, and a man with salt-and-pepper curls waving from inside. “Hi, I’m Jeff,” he said, unlocking the door. “We’re booked tonight, but there’s bar seating. Six stools. They go fast.”

At ten minutes to five, I stood seventh in line. Six ahead of me, all bundled in jackets and beanies, shifting weight from foot to foot, hoping for a seat. The door opened. Names were taken. I was the last walk-in. Campione was full.

I wandered the streets, trying to understand the town’s quiet pull. Livingston in early fall feels like a place between seasons—between knowing and not knowing. When I returned, I was seated at the farthest stool, closest to the kitchen. The sounds were elemental: fire hissing, pans clattering like wind chimes, voices rising and falling in a language I almost understood. The kitchen moved like a body: fluid, rhythmic, searching for heat and harmony. I sipped a red wine that tasted like dusk.

I ordered Lamb Ragu. It felt safe, but not small. The lamb came from nearby; the produce was even closer. Campione calls itself Roman Italian, but the ingredients are pure Montana—mountain-fed, soil-rich, and impossibly fresh. The linguine was tender; the lamb dissolved on the tongue. I wanted to ask for more—I didn’t. There’s a kind of reverence in restraint.

Campione was named one of The New York Times’ Top 50 restaurants in America in 2023, and this year, Chef Joshua Adams was named a finalist for the James Beard Award for Best Chef in the Mountain region. These honors matter, but they don’t explain the place. Campione isn’t good because it’s acclaimed. It’s good because it’s alive. Because the food tastes like it remembers where it came from. Because the restaurant holds you without asking who you are.

If you go, make a reservation. Or don’t. Stand outside in the cold, talking to strangers. Sit at the bar. Listen to the kitchen. Order the Ragu. Savor it. Because if you eat too fast, you’ll look down at your empty plate and feel something like grief. I walked back to my hotel with my hands in my pockets, the air sharp and clean. I tapped my toe against the sidewalk, still tasting tomato and leek. Campione Roman Kitchen, in Livingston, Montana. A place that doesn’t need to be discovered to be unforgettable.