Dining Review: Viola Cucina in Barrington

Finally, a break from takeout at a new Barrington eatery that celebrates flavorful Italian cuisine.

February 28, 2025

Karen Deutsch,

Swordfish romano. Photography by Angel Tucker

There is no shortage of Italian restaurants in Rhode Island, but Viola Cucina is still something of an anomaly. For one thing, it’s located in Barrington, which has over 6,000 homes, ample water views and so few sit-down restaurants that it’s become downright strange. A lot of this comes down to Barrington’s history as a dry town and its limited liquor licenses.

But it’s also worth noting that the town’s largest five-year demographic is kids between the ages of ten and fourteen. Maybe they’re responsible for the takeout culture which has given rise to more food in paper bags than on plates. But these kids clearly have parents, and they must be getting pretty tired of driving into Providence or down to Warren and Bristol.

Gnocchi alla sorrentina. Photography by Angel Tucker

So it makes sense that Barrington native Don Poissant’s Viola would grab the small restaurant space on County Road that once held Grande Forno and Mangia Trattoria and Pizza. His partner, Dino Passaretta, also owns Vanda Cucina in Warwick, named after Passaretta’s mother, and Viola is a tribute to Poissant’s Irish mother.

So how did an Irish woman inspire an Italian restaurant? Like in many immigrant families, it was Poissant’s Italian grandmother who taught Viola to cook for her son.

No doubt Poissant and Passaretta know there are Barrington adults wandering aimlessly in search of a good meal — and they could have successfully dialed in a decent interpretation of Italian cuisine. But Viola is much like its older sister: an unassuming space with a distinctly feminine energy. It presents as understated but the food is seriously strong-willed and surprising, even for the state’s most accessible cuisine.

There are Italian restaurants around town that focus on fully modernizing a familiar menu but that’s not what Viola is about. Everything here is recognizable to a born and bred northern Italian — Bolognese, Milanese, Piedmont-inspired dishes — and yet the kitchen has managed to elevate tradition into a contemporary elegy.

Executive chef Jon Hager (standing left) with server Charlie Ferri, bar manager Ali Poissant, and owner Don Poissant. Photography by Angel Tucker

Bucatini al’amatriciana. Photography by Angel Tucker

The space itself holds just under fifty people but it feels smaller than that. There are no nooks or alcoves — it’s a simple square decorated in wood and tile, neutral but not fully rustic. Vintage photos and pottery adorn the walls and Frank Sinatra is singing with full abandon overhead. And, sure enough, there are usually some of those local kids tucked into a seat with a screen, munching on loaves of coarsely salted, warm focaccia ($7/$12) that comes out on boards with roasted garlic and flavored butter.

But the first wave of Viola’s disposition comes from its staff, who are sincerely earnest. Everyone has eaten their way through executive chef Jon Hager’s menu and they engage with diners like matchmakers looking to manifest your dormant dreams. “You could get the chicken Milanese, which is really done well here,” Charlie will tell you, “but I’m being honest when I say that the pasta is going to fundamentally change you.” Turns out that young Charlie knows a thing or two.

Arancia rossa martini. Photography by Angel Tucker

The single best thing that Viola does is tomato sauce, and if that sounds like a throwdown, it is. This is a kitchen that believes wholeheartedly in reduction and, as a result, every version of sauce is aggressive and rewarding. Bolognese is so intense as to take center stage, even when paired with housemade gnocchi ($31) and strong enough to make room for both mozzarella and Parmesan without giving up the limelight. Even the Amatriciana ($25) — with red wine and pancetta — is ultimately a distillation of tomato, hearty and multi-layered.

And if you’re looking for a culinary cause, consider a pitch to the kitchen to move the lasagna from the specials board to the menu. It’s worth a full commit. In this case, it’s served as a trio of pinwheels, and though there’s bechamel and ricotta involved, it’s a dish that remains all about the sauce, punctuated with housemade sausage and crisped bits of pasta.

For those at odds with carbs, lean toward the veal and peas ($14), which is swimming in a rich hunter’s-style sauce. It’s an appetizer for now, though one guy, seated at the bar, said he would order a triple portion for his next dinner as an homage to his Italian grandfather. (Sounds right.)

Veal Parmigiana. Photography by Angel Tucker

That’s not to say that the kitchen doesn’t have a delicate side. Crispy sea bass is served with sunchokes and a mellow tapenade; swordfish is paired with lemon butter and capers. There are pastas with no tomatoes — one night a tagliatelle with truffle butter, prosciutto and leeks — that place more emphasis on the dough itself. Or you can opt for a Caesar salad with meatballs, which is as good a memory of old-school Italy as any. Even the bone-in veal Parm, which is pounded thin and hangs over its plate like a hubcap, manages to eat light enough to order without (too much) shame.

It’s no surprise that Viola has quickly become the neighborhood favorite, but there are always a few diners who have traveled from other parts of the state. The center family table seats eight, which is a healthy dose of the whole dining room, and is regularly filled with relatives or friends — with the age gap easily spanning sixty years.

Each generation is happy to call this place their own, though, and in a short period of time, the nightly amalgam of people has quickly grown into a collective, good-willed family which is looked after by Poissant’s wife, Ali, who runs the bar. Banter is enthusiastic and, though there’s little protection from the front door’s burst of cold air, most of the group stays around for dessert.

If Viola is forceful in its savory dishes, the mood shifts to buoyant ebullience when it comes to sweets. Cream is the go-to ingredient and it’s whipped into various manifestations of nostalgia. Tiramisu is not novel but it’s sublime, a thick wedge of coffee-tinged mascarpone topped with a dusting of cocoa heavy enough to cut through the sugar. The chocolate mousse tastes like unadulterated childhood, impossibly light and sweet and topped with flourless chocolate cake crumbles.

The interior of Vioula Cucina. Photography by Angel Tucker

The interior of Vioula Cucina.

But if you’ve sized yourself up to be more mature in taste, Poissant’s brought his mother’s carrot cake into play and it’s as good as the staff proclaims. It’s full of bourbon-soaked currants instead of raisins and just a shmear of cream cheese frosting on top and below the cube of cake. It’s as much pudding as it is solid, with more than a passing resemblance to a steamed British sweet served in a Dickens novel. The reference will mean something to an older generation and set completely on the very young — but that’s certainly Viola’s appeal. It’s a lyrical and emphatic expression of Italy that manages to speak to ages across the spectrum.

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