Beretta has been one of my favorite restaurants since the day it opened. It’s been a go-to birthday dinner spot in my inner circle for years and I have spent countless Sunday brunches on the outside patio indulging in too many cocktails and eating shameless amount of pizza. It’s one of those restaurants that has become a San Francisco landmark for me.
I realized all of this while standing back behind the line during a Friday rush, shooting the pizzas going in the oven. The bustle was intense and I took up a big chunk of the tiny kitchen. The cooks were more than gracious but I was feeling the pressure to get my shots and get out of the way. As I turned to leave, I glanced out over the line and saw the restaurant, all warm and humming from a dozen conversations, this place that I’d spent so many nights at with my friends and family, this corner of San Francisco that means so much to me, and it struck me: this was a dream come true.