The carbonara at Trattoria Al Moro swaps guanciale for pancetta. If this grave Italian sin wasn’t enough of a red flag, the dish itself is painfully short on salt, pepper, and that essential fatty pork cheek flavor. And the vibe doesn’t help. Whenever we visit, a curt host greets us with the warmth of a TSA agent, sizing us up as if our shoes might determine whether our reservation is legitimate—and the high prices only drive the point home. The only real saving grace is the intimacy of the old-school space (they’ve been open for over 100 years, after all) and the tightly packed tables. The one dish that actually delivers—tagliolini al tartufo—is only around for truffle season.