There’s something undeniably metropolitan about Pazzo. Tucked into a historic building on Barrington Street, the space doesn’t whisper “Italy” so much as it channels the buzzy energy of a modern New York eatery. Exposed brick, old-growth beams, and high ceilings form the backbone of a room that feels equally suited to date nights and downtown power dinners. It’s Italian, yes—but with some North American swagger.
It had been over a year since I last set foot in Pazzo. Back then, the restaurant was still finding its footing. On this return visit, it felt like the place had finally hit its stride. The upstairs dining room remains the anchor—dimly lit, warmly appointed, and elegantly casual. But more energy now pulses from below, where a downstairs aperitivo bar has carved out its own identity. It’s a bit more playful: small bites, bold cocktails, DJs on Friday nights, and a daily 4–6 p.m. happy hour that feels like a nod to an evening in Turino, refracted through a Halifax lens.
The name “Pazzo” means crazy, and the path to opening was just that. Manager Carlo Catallo—a Toronto native with Italian roots and a résumé filled with running and owning some of that city’s trendiest Italian spots—now brings his charm and hospitality to Halifax, along with a clear sense of purpose. RCR president Shannon Bruhm, who helms the venerable Halifax-based restaurant group, spent years chasing the right space. He eventually found it, almost by accident, during a catering gig in what was then Attica, of all things, a furniture store. That spark of inspiration snowballed into a multi-year project complicated by heritage restrictions, fire code hurdles, and a few moments that might have pushed a less stubborn team to walk away. But walk away they didn’t—and what emerged is a restaurant that feels considered and complete, even if born from madness. Hence the name ‘Pazzo’.
Dinner began with thick-cut focaccia and a trio of dips. The standout was a bright lemon butter, though a bone marrow and sundried tomato spread gave it stiff competition. A silky tuna carpaccio followed—more delicate, almost silken, than the now standard tuna tartare fare found at most restaurants (and I do enjoy tuna tartare)—and a flight of prosciutti that invited a quiet conversation about the impact of how age can deliver nuances of flavour and texture to Italy’s most prized cured meat.
Then came one of the more theatrical elements: a tableside fettuccine carbonara, made in a carved-out wheel of Sardinian Pecorino Romano. There’s something undeniably satisfying about watching a seasoned Italian restaurateur like Catallo transform egg yolks, crisped guanciale, lots of cracked pepper into a glossy sauce while tableside chatter swells around you. If I’m being picky, the pasta itself, which was then added to the carved out wheel of Pecorino to complete the dish, was firmer than my ideal—slightly beyond al dente, in my opinion. That said the dish was still deeply satisfying.
The mains showed careful technique without pretension. The pork belly didn’t arrive with the crackle one might expect, but it also avoided the trap of being overly gelatinous. Instead, it was tender and offset by a tangy fruit-based agrodolce (sour and sweet). The roasted chicken was simple but well executed, while the Bistecca alla Fiorentina-style striploin—grilled, sliced, and drizzled with oil and coarse salt—was a standout. Served on a bed of arugula and cherry tomatoes, it was everything one could want in this version of the Tuscan classic. For the more carnivorous, a 40-oz T-bone version, closer to the classic Porterhouse as is typically served in Tuscany, is also available. Sides of cauliflower, roast potatoes and carrots were served on the side, allowing the meal to be a ‘famiglia’ (family) like experience.
The wine list speaks fluent Italian, with no concessions to the New World. That might surprise some, but to my mind, it’s refreshing. Familiar names to oenophiles like Gaja, Solaia, and Tignanello hold court, but there’s also a welcome selection from Southern Italy, including some standout white wines such as a 2019 Planeta ‘Eruzione 1614’ Carricante that showed a salty lift and pleasing maturity. While it’s easy for wine lovers to run up a bill here, there’s solid value in the $65–$90 range.
We barely had room for dessert, but the tiramisu—unfussy, generously portioned, and melt in the mouth smooth—was worth the effort. Our table of four enjoyed a leisurely meal: two shared starters, two pastas, three mains, sides, shared dessert, and two bottles of wine for roughly $100 per person before tax and tip. Not inexpensive, but more than fair for what’s delivered. You could dine here well under that if you pared things back—and equally, you could spend more and still feel like you got your money’s worth.
Pazzo doesn’t try to mimic Italy—it takes Italian inspiration and filters it through a cosmopolitan Halifax aesthetic. My only wish? That the room had been fuller. It’s a restaurant that deserves—and depends on—the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the rise and fall of shared meals. If it stays the course, I suspect that hum will be there on a more regular basis.
To make a reservation or explore the menu at Pazzo, make a reservation here.
This article appears in May 1-31, 2025.