When owners Ted Kennedy, and Matthew and Sean Williams’s decided to expand its North End’s dining hotspot Lucca into the Back Bay last year, Sasso came to be. Evidently, the fancy name didn’t take, as the restaurant is now simply called Lucca Back Bay. Neither did the original chef, David Ross, who was replaced by formidable chef Anthony Mazzotta, he of nationally renowned restaurants of which you may have heard (California’s French Laundry and New York’s Per Se). And yet, when it comes to local publicity of its finest Italian restaurants, Lucca Back Bay is almost always excluded from the conversation. Paul’s Palate trekked over to the Huntington Avenue location (lodged between the Colonnade and Marriott Copley Hotels) to investigate why.
Lucca Back Bay aims high for ambience, and mostly hits its mark. A snazzy little bar with some tables for nibbling on bar bites appears to the left, while an elegant, modern dining room, painted in warm brown hues and providing some great street-viewing outside, is to our right. A long marble staircase leading up to the kitchen, however, seems strangely askew. In fact, after awkwardly attempting to find my way to the rest rooms, whose entranceway was initially pitch black, the deeply embarrassed maitre’d apologized for some of his servers who apparently had bumped into switches upstairs connected to this area on multiple occasions. Though the establishment boasts an impressive décor, minute details such as these prevent Lucca from taking its rightful place atop the classy scale – a la Mistral or Sorrelina.
Mazzotta’s menu changes seasonally, depending on what Italian regional fare tickles his fancy. And like Lucca’s ambience, his food options are typically on the mark. For starters, though, the vitello tonnato ($16) is an utter disappointment. The thinly sliced veal carpaccio is barely discernible, as is the bland tuna tartare, which is rolled into unappealing ball-like shapes. The accoutrements sound enticing – grain mustard remoulade, tiny croutons, pickled ramps, cucumber, radish, and watercress – but they add very little flavor or texture to the dish. On the other hand, Mazzato’s Point Judith calamari ($13) are nothing short of sensational, creatively sauteed with a delectable agro dolce tomato sauce and eggplant. Pasta dishes are Mazzotta’s forte, as evidenced by his superb house-made tagliatelle con pollo ($22), whose blend of perfectly cooked pasta, confit chicken, panecetta, preserved lemon, watercress, and toasted pistachios elevates this bright, lively dish into the canon of all-time great pastas. Four thick, moist seared George Bank scallops ($36) adorn my wife’s dish, but aside from a delicious garnish of turnip puree, sautéed spinich, and confit lobster mushrooms almost hiding underneath the seafood, the plate is practically bare, nary an accompaniment to be had. It were as if we were re-living the commercial in which the couple goes out to a fine dining establishment only to discover miniscule, bordering on pretentious food portion sizes. My wife leans over, secretly pointing to her dish, and whispers, “Is that all there is?” Surely, this cannot happen at a place like Lucca, can it?
Save for a missed water glass, service was consistent and amiable. Our waiter was pleasant and quite knowledgeable of the restaurant’s wine and food selections.
As evidenced by its ambience, service, and food, Lucca Back Bay, like a good-but-not-great baseball player, frequently swings for the fences but more often settles for ground-rule doubles. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in today’s competitive culinary world and challenging economic climate – where repeat business is critical - perfection is everything. Given Luccca’s moderately high price points ($13 cocktails, $11-16 antipasti, $22-24 pasta dishes, $26-36 entrees, $10 desserts), expectations need to be tempered here. Musician Suzanne Vega once sang about a character named Luka living on the second floor. This particular Lucca yearns for the penthouse, but like the central figure in Vega’s song, delivers above average, but slightly pedestrian results.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Italy by Way of Belmont? Il Casale Comes Close
You’d have to practically live on Italy’s Amalfi Coast (and who wouldn’t want to?) not to recognize Dante de Magistris’s name amongst Boston’s most revered and exciting chefs. His flagship restaurant, Dante, offers up more upscale, sexy Italian fare in Cambridge’s Royal Sonesta Hotel, and opened to rave reviews a few years back. Fortunately for us suburbanites, de Magistris, along with father, Leon and brothers Damian and Filippo, have scaled things back (bringing un-sexy back?) by recently opening up an establishment in his hometown of Belmont, which serves up more traditional, family-style Italian inspired fare conjured up from his nonna’s (grandmother) recipe book. This isn’t Clio, folks: whereas chef Ken Oringer’s gastronomical dishes are expensively ambitious, de Magistris’s cuisine, like the restaurant’s name (a house in the Italian countryside) achieves affordable simplicity.
If it’s ambience you’re after, il Casale won’t disappoint (unless, of course, you’re seeking out that remote house in the Italian countryside). The restaurant, situated in quaint Belmont center, resides in a converted firehouse. Brick walls, exposed beams, high ceilings, chandeliers, and muted lighting make for a romantic, trendy décor. Dark curtains separate the large bar from the dining room and open kitchen. Lively, good-looking crowds are in abundance, cheerily sipping on cocktails and consuming their meals. Lest we forget we’re in Belmont, not New York City.
At il Casale, family-style dining is the order of the day. Aptly named after Italian race cars, though far more affordable, the Fiat ($35) includes four courses while the Ferrari ($60) offers five courses plus sfizi (small bites).
Speaking of reasonably-priced, the sfizi are a steal at $5 apiece. While every local food critic under t sun raved about the maiale (pork meatballs), I was slightly disappointed by their blandness. They were neither filled with nearly enough mozzarella nor succulent, despite de Magistris’s innovate technique of preparing the meatballs in a pig’s head reduction sauce. Far more intriguing, and simple for that matter, was the traditional carne version, cooked in pure tomato sugo (sauce) and sprinkled with cheese. Old standbys arancini (porcini risotto rice balls with scamorza and tomato sauce) and pomodoro (tomato bruschetta with garlic and Silician oregano) were once again simply prepared yet simply divine. Amongst the entire sfizi offerings, however, the burrata – a buttery mozzarella from Apulia served with Monini olive oil and candied pistachios, was pure bliss: a perfectly balanced dish blending the cheese’s tartness with milky, nutty sweetness.
Entrees offer equal value and quality, none whose price point exceeds $26 (pastas top out at $21). Dante’s nonna, I’m sure, slaved over her pasta dishes, so why not sample one for ourselves? Illustrative of de Magistris’s attentiveness to using fresh, seasonal ingredients, gnocchi ($21) are light, pillowy dumplings served ‘primavera’ style, including a pink porcini sauce and a spring vegetable ragout that includes favas, peas, and asparagus. The secondi dishes are also strong, including the pizzaiola, a slow-braised skirt steak layered with tomato-oregano sugo, where the meat is both perfectly cooked and melt-in-your-mouth good.
A half dozen moderately-priced red and white wines ($9-14/glass) adorn the menu, as do a dozen interesting, adeptly prepared cocktails which range from $8-12. A refreshing, Bellini-like Pear cider ($10) blends cider, pear cognac, and prosecco to perfection.
Be sure to save room for dessert. A traditional tiramisu is thankfully light and packs a healthy dose of gran marnier. The frittelle, however, is worth shouting back to Italy about. Venetian style fried dough, served as beignet-style pieces, are accompanied by a warm chocolate fonduta dipping sauce. The plating of this dish might not be overly inspiring, but as with the lionshare of dishes at il Casale, it’s the flavors that take center stage.
Service is exceptional. Our server never once blinks when questioned about the menu, and seemed to have an innate ability to pare dishes with wines based on our table’s preferences and tastes. He demonstrated a refined enthusiasm over the kitchen’s cuisine, which in turn elevated the quality of our dining experience.
I’ll happily reserve a spot at the deMagistris family table and consume their nonna’s delectable cuisine. After all, il Casale, tucked just far enough away from the bright lights of that big city, Boston, proves that you can, after all, go home for a great meal.
If it’s ambience you’re after, il Casale won’t disappoint (unless, of course, you’re seeking out that remote house in the Italian countryside). The restaurant, situated in quaint Belmont center, resides in a converted firehouse. Brick walls, exposed beams, high ceilings, chandeliers, and muted lighting make for a romantic, trendy décor. Dark curtains separate the large bar from the dining room and open kitchen. Lively, good-looking crowds are in abundance, cheerily sipping on cocktails and consuming their meals. Lest we forget we’re in Belmont, not New York City.
At il Casale, family-style dining is the order of the day. Aptly named after Italian race cars, though far more affordable, the Fiat ($35) includes four courses while the Ferrari ($60) offers five courses plus sfizi (small bites).
Speaking of reasonably-priced, the sfizi are a steal at $5 apiece. While every local food critic under t sun raved about the maiale (pork meatballs), I was slightly disappointed by their blandness. They were neither filled with nearly enough mozzarella nor succulent, despite de Magistris’s innovate technique of preparing the meatballs in a pig’s head reduction sauce. Far more intriguing, and simple for that matter, was the traditional carne version, cooked in pure tomato sugo (sauce) and sprinkled with cheese. Old standbys arancini (porcini risotto rice balls with scamorza and tomato sauce) and pomodoro (tomato bruschetta with garlic and Silician oregano) were once again simply prepared yet simply divine. Amongst the entire sfizi offerings, however, the burrata – a buttery mozzarella from Apulia served with Monini olive oil and candied pistachios, was pure bliss: a perfectly balanced dish blending the cheese’s tartness with milky, nutty sweetness.
Entrees offer equal value and quality, none whose price point exceeds $26 (pastas top out at $21). Dante’s nonna, I’m sure, slaved over her pasta dishes, so why not sample one for ourselves? Illustrative of de Magistris’s attentiveness to using fresh, seasonal ingredients, gnocchi ($21) are light, pillowy dumplings served ‘primavera’ style, including a pink porcini sauce and a spring vegetable ragout that includes favas, peas, and asparagus. The secondi dishes are also strong, including the pizzaiola, a slow-braised skirt steak layered with tomato-oregano sugo, where the meat is both perfectly cooked and melt-in-your-mouth good.
A half dozen moderately-priced red and white wines ($9-14/glass) adorn the menu, as do a dozen interesting, adeptly prepared cocktails which range from $8-12. A refreshing, Bellini-like Pear cider ($10) blends cider, pear cognac, and prosecco to perfection.
Be sure to save room for dessert. A traditional tiramisu is thankfully light and packs a healthy dose of gran marnier. The frittelle, however, is worth shouting back to Italy about. Venetian style fried dough, served as beignet-style pieces, are accompanied by a warm chocolate fonduta dipping sauce. The plating of this dish might not be overly inspiring, but as with the lionshare of dishes at il Casale, it’s the flavors that take center stage.
Service is exceptional. Our server never once blinks when questioned about the menu, and seemed to have an innate ability to pare dishes with wines based on our table’s preferences and tastes. He demonstrated a refined enthusiasm over the kitchen’s cuisine, which in turn elevated the quality of our dining experience.
I’ll happily reserve a spot at the deMagistris family table and consume their nonna’s delectable cuisine. After all, il Casale, tucked just far enough away from the bright lights of that big city, Boston, proves that you can, after all, go home for a great meal.
El Oriental de Cuba Brings Little (Bites of) Havana into Jamaica Plain
Poor foreign relations may have always prevented Fidel Castro from frequenting the United States, but perhaps the intoxicating aromas and flavors emanating from a wonderful, little restaurant situated in Jamaica Plain just might entice him here. El Oriental de Cuba, founded in 1994, offers up some of the finest authentic Cuban cuisine north of Miami.
Don’t fret about the restaurant’s interior. The front-to-back setting doesn’t allow for seating parties of more than six, and not a high chair in the establishment had functional seat fasteners for children. The service, though certainly friendly, is a tad too leisurely (more like Caribbean-team), as waters were poured and orders taken nearly fifteen minutes after seating.
But let’s face it: it’s not the ambience you’re after here, but rather, the delectable cuisine. For starters, you’ll find a variety of savory soups and stews, including a marvelously hearty take on traditional seafood stew with rice ($8.95). The beef patty ($2.50), served empanada style, was a revelation: a flaky exterior packed with tender minced meat whose flavor is enhanced by a variety of secret spices. Fried sweet plantains ($1.95) were equally good, with a crème-brulee-like exterior and a heavenly gooey center. While others in my party raved about the octopus salad, I found the fish’s texture too tough, with zero rubberiness and give, and the abundance of vegetables surprisingly added little flavor to the dish.
Entrees fared equally well. While whole red snapper in spicy sauce ($16.95) proved to be a dull disappointment, the shrimp in garlic sauce with mofongo ($16.95) was playfully presented and perfectly prepared. Upon initial glance, El Oriental de Cuba’s Cuban sandwich may sound less appealing than more exciting options that include drunken goat and rabo (braised oxtail). But listen closely to the locals, and they’ll swear by this sandwich, and for good reason. It is served on an airy, baguette-like bread, layered with succulent strips of pork, and lathered with a special sauce, along with traditional ingredients of mustard and pickles. I dare any restaurant’s imitations to match the simplistic, yet optimal flavor of El Oriental’s standout version. And don’t forget to wash all of your meal down with one of the restaurant’s revered tropical shakes ($3.00). They are blended with milk or water, and given the wonderful potency and richness of the fruits, the former ingredient need not be required. Guanabana (semi-tart and semi-sweet) and horchata (rice and banana creating a mild chocolate flavor) are unique and exceptionally good.
Prior to entering this establishment, I discovered that El Oriental de Cuba’s location was firebombed a few years ago, only to re-open at the local residents’ insistence. Not only does that demonstrate the public’s acute sense of what qualifies for fine food, but also the owner’s sense of resiliency amidst hardship. I applaud this little restaurant-that-could as it continues to feed the masses. Count me amongst them.
Don’t fret about the restaurant’s interior. The front-to-back setting doesn’t allow for seating parties of more than six, and not a high chair in the establishment had functional seat fasteners for children. The service, though certainly friendly, is a tad too leisurely (more like Caribbean-team), as waters were poured and orders taken nearly fifteen minutes after seating.
But let’s face it: it’s not the ambience you’re after here, but rather, the delectable cuisine. For starters, you’ll find a variety of savory soups and stews, including a marvelously hearty take on traditional seafood stew with rice ($8.95). The beef patty ($2.50), served empanada style, was a revelation: a flaky exterior packed with tender minced meat whose flavor is enhanced by a variety of secret spices. Fried sweet plantains ($1.95) were equally good, with a crème-brulee-like exterior and a heavenly gooey center. While others in my party raved about the octopus salad, I found the fish’s texture too tough, with zero rubberiness and give, and the abundance of vegetables surprisingly added little flavor to the dish.
Entrees fared equally well. While whole red snapper in spicy sauce ($16.95) proved to be a dull disappointment, the shrimp in garlic sauce with mofongo ($16.95) was playfully presented and perfectly prepared. Upon initial glance, El Oriental de Cuba’s Cuban sandwich may sound less appealing than more exciting options that include drunken goat and rabo (braised oxtail). But listen closely to the locals, and they’ll swear by this sandwich, and for good reason. It is served on an airy, baguette-like bread, layered with succulent strips of pork, and lathered with a special sauce, along with traditional ingredients of mustard and pickles. I dare any restaurant’s imitations to match the simplistic, yet optimal flavor of El Oriental’s standout version. And don’t forget to wash all of your meal down with one of the restaurant’s revered tropical shakes ($3.00). They are blended with milk or water, and given the wonderful potency and richness of the fruits, the former ingredient need not be required. Guanabana (semi-tart and semi-sweet) and horchata (rice and banana creating a mild chocolate flavor) are unique and exceptionally good.
Prior to entering this establishment, I discovered that El Oriental de Cuba’s location was firebombed a few years ago, only to re-open at the local residents’ insistence. Not only does that demonstrate the public’s acute sense of what qualifies for fine food, but also the owner’s sense of resiliency amidst hardship. I applaud this little restaurant-that-could as it continues to feed the masses. Count me amongst them.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Foodies Can Shop for Extravagant Tastes at Market
Attention, shoppers. Upon hearing that world-renowned chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten – yes, he, the creator of the often imitated yet infrequently replicated warm chocolate cake – was bringing his culinary empire to Boston, it sparked a thought that maybe – just maybe – the culinary scene in Boston may finally be catching up to New York as one of the region’s (country’s?) most exciting dining destinations. Sure, Boston has its highly-regarded Ken Oringers, Michael Schlows, and Barbara Lynches, but their proprietary reach has yet to go international (can any of these chefs claim restaurants as their own overseas in places including British Columbia, Mexico and Qatar?). Located in the new, ultra-modern W Hotel at the corner of Stuart Street, this Market is not difficult to find.
Particularly as you enter its doors. The dining room’s decor oozes chicness, from its oversized windows, to its razor-thin, sleek lighting frozen in midair, to Asian-inspired touches including wood crevices along the ceiling. This is where good-looking, well-to-do individuals spend their time and money.
But Vongerichten’s cuisine – best described as comfort food meets gourmet - is what this shopper had on his to-do (to-eat) list, and shockingly enough, what was sampled presented a mixed bag of goodies. The tuna tartare with avocado, spicy radish and ginger dressing was surprisingly average, attributed to the rather bland texture of the tartare itself. The spicy radish atop the tuna provided a nice, crispy contrast, although the dressing’s flavor was a tad overpowering. In addition, the much-ballyhooed parmesan-encrusted organic chicken, served with artichokes and lemon-basil butter, was a disappointment. What promised to be a tender cut of chicken turned out slightly on the dry side (I’m crying fowl), and while the artichokes were a respectable accompaniment, the citrusy flavor emanating from the creative lemon-basil butter composition in which they were soaked was off-putting and did not mesh well with the dish. This is not to say that Vongerichten’s plates stumble miserably. Far from it, given his sky-high aspirations and unique usage of ingredients (other local chefs would kill to prepare these dishes). What can be ascertained from these dishes is that are merely good, not great. On the other hand, green apple crisp served in a warmed skillet with cinnamon ice cream was ultra-fresh, crumbly-good comfort food, particularly on a bleary, wintry New England afternoon.
Service was astute and prompt. Water glasses and napkins were promptly filled and folded, respectively. A slightly delayed house made soda was the lone blip, but after sipping on the bright yellow, passion chili concoction – which possessed a well-balanced sweetness and heat – all was forgiven.
Value is in line with equally esteemed dining establishments in the area. For lunch, soups and salads range from $8-13, pizza and sandwiches $9-16, appetizers $11-17, entrees faring very well at $18-23. The Market Lunch is a steal at $24 for 2 plates and dessert. Dinner prices are comparable, with only certain entrees reaching into $30 territory, while the Market Dinner is a king’s feast at 5 plates and dessert.
Although Paul’s Palate’s shopping/dining experience at Market proved to be a mild letdown, he’d be receptive to a return visit. After all, there were other highly lauded plates, such as sea urchin toast with yuzu and jalapeno, foie gras brule with spiced fig jam, seared shrimp with silky pumpkin emulsion, and the aforementioned chocolate cake that remained untasted. There’s more than enough culinary experimentation and variety at Market to make dining here both rewarding and dare-I-say, affordable. That should grab your attention, shoppers.
Particularly as you enter its doors. The dining room’s decor oozes chicness, from its oversized windows, to its razor-thin, sleek lighting frozen in midair, to Asian-inspired touches including wood crevices along the ceiling. This is where good-looking, well-to-do individuals spend their time and money.
But Vongerichten’s cuisine – best described as comfort food meets gourmet - is what this shopper had on his to-do (to-eat) list, and shockingly enough, what was sampled presented a mixed bag of goodies. The tuna tartare with avocado, spicy radish and ginger dressing was surprisingly average, attributed to the rather bland texture of the tartare itself. The spicy radish atop the tuna provided a nice, crispy contrast, although the dressing’s flavor was a tad overpowering. In addition, the much-ballyhooed parmesan-encrusted organic chicken, served with artichokes and lemon-basil butter, was a disappointment. What promised to be a tender cut of chicken turned out slightly on the dry side (I’m crying fowl), and while the artichokes were a respectable accompaniment, the citrusy flavor emanating from the creative lemon-basil butter composition in which they were soaked was off-putting and did not mesh well with the dish. This is not to say that Vongerichten’s plates stumble miserably. Far from it, given his sky-high aspirations and unique usage of ingredients (other local chefs would kill to prepare these dishes). What can be ascertained from these dishes is that are merely good, not great. On the other hand, green apple crisp served in a warmed skillet with cinnamon ice cream was ultra-fresh, crumbly-good comfort food, particularly on a bleary, wintry New England afternoon.
Service was astute and prompt. Water glasses and napkins were promptly filled and folded, respectively. A slightly delayed house made soda was the lone blip, but after sipping on the bright yellow, passion chili concoction – which possessed a well-balanced sweetness and heat – all was forgiven.
Value is in line with equally esteemed dining establishments in the area. For lunch, soups and salads range from $8-13, pizza and sandwiches $9-16, appetizers $11-17, entrees faring very well at $18-23. The Market Lunch is a steal at $24 for 2 plates and dessert. Dinner prices are comparable, with only certain entrees reaching into $30 territory, while the Market Dinner is a king’s feast at 5 plates and dessert.
Although Paul’s Palate’s shopping/dining experience at Market proved to be a mild letdown, he’d be receptive to a return visit. After all, there were other highly lauded plates, such as sea urchin toast with yuzu and jalapeno, foie gras brule with spiced fig jam, seared shrimp with silky pumpkin emulsion, and the aforementioned chocolate cake that remained untasted. There’s more than enough culinary experimentation and variety at Market to make dining here both rewarding and dare-I-say, affordable. That should grab your attention, shoppers.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Hot off the 'Oven' Presses: Al Forno Impresses
For nearly thirty years (January 2, 2010 will mark its three-decade anniversary), Al Forno in Providence, RI has served up some of Rhode Island’s finest Italian fare. The restaurant’s primary claim to fame, however, is its reputation as the original home of grilled pizza, created by husband-wife/chef-owner tandem Johanne Killeen and George Germon. Although furtively tucked away in a slightly remote waterfront location along South Main Street, Al Forno’s simple renditions of Italian food with a twist are difficult to miss.
Al Forno’s ambience, like its cuisine, is simple yet elegant. Although its interior extends to two levels (the second floor decked with stone tiles, bricks, mirrors, and wood, while the first floor is splashed with ivory and suspended corn stocks from the ceiling), the limited number of tables and their proximity to one another create the perfect romantic setting (one in which, I’m sure, many a weddings proposals have been popped). A line begins to form outside the restaurant as early as 5:30: apparently, this establishment is recession-proof. Or, perhaps, customers are lured by the intoxicating aromas emanating from the wood-burning ovens and grills over charcoal fires. Think Lady and the Tramp, particularly the classic scene in which the two dogs share the spaghetti strand and a kiss. There’s amore in the air at Al Forno. Our only minor quibble upon arrival: where to find the maitre’ d? After going on a scavenger hunt from the top floor to the bottom, we finally find the affable gentleman who promptly seats us.
Appetizers range from the famed grilled pizza margarita (or for the most daring type, try one cooked with sweet pumpkin) to grilled cod cakes with smashed avocado. While we’re initially disappointed in the owners’ lack of flexibility in terms of accommodating my wife’s dairy allergy when our request to have half the grilled pizza prepared with no cheese is rebuffed, I also admire them for sticking to their gourmet guns. After all, this pie is their piece-de-resistance, their claim to fame. What if Leonardo da Vinci removed the semblance of a smile from his masterpiece painting, Mona Lisa. The artist would never be able to view his art in the same way once it has been desecrated. To the initial observer’s eye, this might be viewed as stubborness verging upon arrogance, but given further consideration, Killeen and Germon’s decision is about maintaining the purity of their culinary vision. Al Forno makes amends by serving a generous portion of some of the most tender shreds of beef carpaccio we’ve tasted, beautifully presented with arugula salad and a not-too-heavy herb aoili reduction.
We reluctantly pass on the pastas – partially due to my wife’s allergy, partially because we’re saving room for dessert – though the selections sound wonderfully appealing. Take, for instance, shells baked with pumpkin, cream, pancetta and five cheeses, or the gnocci with bread crumbs, or linguine with creamy egg, duck bacon, and pea tendrils. We proceed to the less heavy wood-grilled selections, which include my wife’s succulent honey-glazed duck leg and grilled sausage. The sausage could stand on its own as a dish, packing a mild spiciness that is perfectly balanced by a wonderfully creative side of candied banana peppers. The pheasant is perfectly cooked, and the kitchen performs a small miracle by making even the less glamorous components of this dish shine, such as roasted broccoli and pomme frites with a tangy, addictive spicy catsup sauce. I typically shy away from inhaling aromas off of the plate – the only other time in recent memory was over a spiced lamb dish at Charlestown’s Tangierino – but those from my wood-roasted gorgonzola stuffed veal cutlets were potent enough to grab my nostrils’ attention. The tender veal is wrapped in wood-roasted homemade bacon – and who doesn’t like bacon? I certainly don’t, when it’s tragically over- or undercooked, charred to a crisp or limp like a dead flower. This rendition is far superior: think gourmet pigs in a smoked blanket. The bacon is unbelievably meaty and full of flavor. Gorgonzola oozes out and is perfect for sopping up the meat. While accompanying leeks and wild mushrooms were more of an afterthought, the pears are a sweet complement to the sourness of the cheese.
As for the house-made desserts, several of which are prepared for two, the number of and variety of selections was mind-boggling. Should we go for the grand cookie finale, toasted coconut ice cream, or warm chocolate filled crepes? Once again, due to my wife’s allergy (one limiting factor to this restaurant is that it is not lactose-friendly), we opt for the native pear and walnut tart. This concoction may very well be the most delectable we’ve ever sampled. The piping hot fruity insides, both fresh and refreshing while thankfully not overly sweet, are perfectly cooked into a slightly wood-charred crust. Take my word when I say that this signature dish puts any of your grandmother’s best pies to shame, one that warrants many returns to Al Forno, if not to sample several other varieties of tarts.
Service is exceptional. Our server is not only amiable and extremely knowledgeable of the menu, but also earns our admiration by deeply apologizing for the aforementioned grilled pizza snafu. Bread baskets and water glasses are promptly refilled by an efficient wait staff.
An evening at Al Forno is a special occasion and the prices reflect this. Appetizers average $15-20, pastas around $20, wood-grilled entrees between $25-32, and desserts (usually for 2) at $20. But for generous portions of the highest quality (a strong argument can be made that given such large quantities of food and the corresponding price points, Al Forno may be best enjoyed with large parties/ a la family style), exceptional service, and a charming, Old World atmosphere, it’s worth the splurge. Al Forno – Italian for ‘off the stove’ – stokes Paul’s Palate’s appetite. Put that on your foodie Hot Stove.
Al Forno’s ambience, like its cuisine, is simple yet elegant. Although its interior extends to two levels (the second floor decked with stone tiles, bricks, mirrors, and wood, while the first floor is splashed with ivory and suspended corn stocks from the ceiling), the limited number of tables and their proximity to one another create the perfect romantic setting (one in which, I’m sure, many a weddings proposals have been popped). A line begins to form outside the restaurant as early as 5:30: apparently, this establishment is recession-proof. Or, perhaps, customers are lured by the intoxicating aromas emanating from the wood-burning ovens and grills over charcoal fires. Think Lady and the Tramp, particularly the classic scene in which the two dogs share the spaghetti strand and a kiss. There’s amore in the air at Al Forno. Our only minor quibble upon arrival: where to find the maitre’ d? After going on a scavenger hunt from the top floor to the bottom, we finally find the affable gentleman who promptly seats us.
Appetizers range from the famed grilled pizza margarita (or for the most daring type, try one cooked with sweet pumpkin) to grilled cod cakes with smashed avocado. While we’re initially disappointed in the owners’ lack of flexibility in terms of accommodating my wife’s dairy allergy when our request to have half the grilled pizza prepared with no cheese is rebuffed, I also admire them for sticking to their gourmet guns. After all, this pie is their piece-de-resistance, their claim to fame. What if Leonardo da Vinci removed the semblance of a smile from his masterpiece painting, Mona Lisa. The artist would never be able to view his art in the same way once it has been desecrated. To the initial observer’s eye, this might be viewed as stubborness verging upon arrogance, but given further consideration, Killeen and Germon’s decision is about maintaining the purity of their culinary vision. Al Forno makes amends by serving a generous portion of some of the most tender shreds of beef carpaccio we’ve tasted, beautifully presented with arugula salad and a not-too-heavy herb aoili reduction.
We reluctantly pass on the pastas – partially due to my wife’s allergy, partially because we’re saving room for dessert – though the selections sound wonderfully appealing. Take, for instance, shells baked with pumpkin, cream, pancetta and five cheeses, or the gnocci with bread crumbs, or linguine with creamy egg, duck bacon, and pea tendrils. We proceed to the less heavy wood-grilled selections, which include my wife’s succulent honey-glazed duck leg and grilled sausage. The sausage could stand on its own as a dish, packing a mild spiciness that is perfectly balanced by a wonderfully creative side of candied banana peppers. The pheasant is perfectly cooked, and the kitchen performs a small miracle by making even the less glamorous components of this dish shine, such as roasted broccoli and pomme frites with a tangy, addictive spicy catsup sauce. I typically shy away from inhaling aromas off of the plate – the only other time in recent memory was over a spiced lamb dish at Charlestown’s Tangierino – but those from my wood-roasted gorgonzola stuffed veal cutlets were potent enough to grab my nostrils’ attention. The tender veal is wrapped in wood-roasted homemade bacon – and who doesn’t like bacon? I certainly don’t, when it’s tragically over- or undercooked, charred to a crisp or limp like a dead flower. This rendition is far superior: think gourmet pigs in a smoked blanket. The bacon is unbelievably meaty and full of flavor. Gorgonzola oozes out and is perfect for sopping up the meat. While accompanying leeks and wild mushrooms were more of an afterthought, the pears are a sweet complement to the sourness of the cheese.
As for the house-made desserts, several of which are prepared for two, the number of and variety of selections was mind-boggling. Should we go for the grand cookie finale, toasted coconut ice cream, or warm chocolate filled crepes? Once again, due to my wife’s allergy (one limiting factor to this restaurant is that it is not lactose-friendly), we opt for the native pear and walnut tart. This concoction may very well be the most delectable we’ve ever sampled. The piping hot fruity insides, both fresh and refreshing while thankfully not overly sweet, are perfectly cooked into a slightly wood-charred crust. Take my word when I say that this signature dish puts any of your grandmother’s best pies to shame, one that warrants many returns to Al Forno, if not to sample several other varieties of tarts.
Service is exceptional. Our server is not only amiable and extremely knowledgeable of the menu, but also earns our admiration by deeply apologizing for the aforementioned grilled pizza snafu. Bread baskets and water glasses are promptly refilled by an efficient wait staff.
An evening at Al Forno is a special occasion and the prices reflect this. Appetizers average $15-20, pastas around $20, wood-grilled entrees between $25-32, and desserts (usually for 2) at $20. But for generous portions of the highest quality (a strong argument can be made that given such large quantities of food and the corresponding price points, Al Forno may be best enjoyed with large parties/ a la family style), exceptional service, and a charming, Old World atmosphere, it’s worth the splurge. Al Forno – Italian for ‘off the stove’ – stokes Paul’s Palate’s appetite. Put that on your foodie Hot Stove.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Olivadi: The Next Olive Garden?
Let’s face facts: aside from Greek restaurant staple Byblos, Norwood Center has never been a must-drive dining destination that foodies have marked down on their calendars. Lo and behold, Olivadi Restaurant & Bar arrived just over a year ago riding the wave of Chef Daniele Baliani’s impressive culinary pedigree and the promise of delectable ‘modern classic’ Italian cuisine. Only a few months in, however, Baliani abruptly left, leading to General Manager Bruno Marini, formerly of the Federalist, to oversee the kitchen. With Baliani’s departure, would Olivadi’s cuisine be lost amidst the transition?
Sadly, yes. Whereas the wine selection (impressively stocked at 280) is extensive and moderately priced, and the cocktails are tasty enough (the Lime Rickey and Olivadi Punch, in particular), it’s the lack of flavors that make the restaurant’s fare seem well, just fair – sometimes bordering upon poor.
For starters, a complimentary basket of homemade bread and crostini with olive-colored, herb-flavored dipping sauce is satisfying enough. As are the fried calimari ($10), which are cooked in lemon-garlic aioli and served with arrabiata tomato dipping sauces. A dining companion remarks how perfectly cooked these crustaceans are prepared based on their rubbery-ness and lightness. I agree, though they lack any distinct flavor, sauces included (there’s no spiciness to the arrabiata). The spinach salad ($8) with sliced pears, candied pistachios, ricotta salad, crispy bacon, and champaigne vinaigrette sounds like a medley for the mouth (particularly given my affinity for all things bacon on greens). It’s decent enough, but for all of the wonderful ingredients, this medley doesn’t quite sing in flavor. And the cheese, in particular, a common theme throughout the course of the meal, is bland bordering on tart. There’s no balance to it. The seafood cioppino ($9/$18) is an improvement, a tuscan stew of mussels, shrimp, cod and onions in a spicy tomato broth. While the mussels and shrimp are instantly forgettable, the cod is perfectly cooked and the broth is delightful. Not so delightful is an oven roasted duck tart ($11), which sounds full of promise, but is surprisingly – wait for it – bland in texture and taste. The caramelized onions and goat cheese should elevate this unique dish but ultimately make it rather pedestrian. The carpaccio ($8) may be the worst dish on the menu. It is described as paper-thin beef tenderloin, and that description may be generous. Lumped together with baby arugula, the meat is barely recognizable and tasteless. We might as well have ordered another salad from the antipasti menu.
Entrees were equally disappointing. The stuffed pork chop Milanese ($21) came highly recommended by our server, and we were baffled as to why. The cut of meat, which came lightly fried, was slightly overcooked. The fontina cheese oozing from the sides would be a nice novelty had the cheese registered any distinct flavor. Nor could I find a trace of prosciutto that was supposed to be part of the dish. A truffled fondue sauce was overkill based on the amount of cheese within the cut of meat. Worst of all, a side of broccoli rabe was oversalted and had hints of fishiness to it, rendering it inedible. Mashed potatoes reaked of being pre-made and seemed a heavy compliment to such a dish. A dining companion of ours barely touched her Nonna’s roast chicken ($17), and it was easy to discern why: the bird was extremely overcooked and dry, which begs the question: how does a place carrying itself as a fine dining establishment destroy something so rudimentary to prepare? It would not have surprised us if our server had suddenly come out to apologize for a new chef manning the kitchen – that’s how mediocre the quality of the food was that evening.
Service is certainly hospitable enough. Our server was patient, cordial, and brutally honest in his opinions on what he believed worked and what didn’t on the menu. Unfortunately for him, there’s not much on the menu that did.
I’d heard second-hand reports that $3 million was invested to renovate Olivadi’s space. While the earthy tones, wooden floor, and dropped ceilings lend a hint of casual intimacy ambience-wise, there’s nothing remotely memorable about it (like the food itself). And by the looks of things on a Sunday evening, in which we were the lone table served, Olivadi may well face a steep climb if it is to celebrate its second anniversary next year. Mezza-mezza food may be acceptable for customers frequenting the Olive Garden, but for Olivadi, we expect much better.
Sadly, yes. Whereas the wine selection (impressively stocked at 280) is extensive and moderately priced, and the cocktails are tasty enough (the Lime Rickey and Olivadi Punch, in particular), it’s the lack of flavors that make the restaurant’s fare seem well, just fair – sometimes bordering upon poor.
For starters, a complimentary basket of homemade bread and crostini with olive-colored, herb-flavored dipping sauce is satisfying enough. As are the fried calimari ($10), which are cooked in lemon-garlic aioli and served with arrabiata tomato dipping sauces. A dining companion remarks how perfectly cooked these crustaceans are prepared based on their rubbery-ness and lightness. I agree, though they lack any distinct flavor, sauces included (there’s no spiciness to the arrabiata). The spinach salad ($8) with sliced pears, candied pistachios, ricotta salad, crispy bacon, and champaigne vinaigrette sounds like a medley for the mouth (particularly given my affinity for all things bacon on greens). It’s decent enough, but for all of the wonderful ingredients, this medley doesn’t quite sing in flavor. And the cheese, in particular, a common theme throughout the course of the meal, is bland bordering on tart. There’s no balance to it. The seafood cioppino ($9/$18) is an improvement, a tuscan stew of mussels, shrimp, cod and onions in a spicy tomato broth. While the mussels and shrimp are instantly forgettable, the cod is perfectly cooked and the broth is delightful. Not so delightful is an oven roasted duck tart ($11), which sounds full of promise, but is surprisingly – wait for it – bland in texture and taste. The caramelized onions and goat cheese should elevate this unique dish but ultimately make it rather pedestrian. The carpaccio ($8) may be the worst dish on the menu. It is described as paper-thin beef tenderloin, and that description may be generous. Lumped together with baby arugula, the meat is barely recognizable and tasteless. We might as well have ordered another salad from the antipasti menu.
Entrees were equally disappointing. The stuffed pork chop Milanese ($21) came highly recommended by our server, and we were baffled as to why. The cut of meat, which came lightly fried, was slightly overcooked. The fontina cheese oozing from the sides would be a nice novelty had the cheese registered any distinct flavor. Nor could I find a trace of prosciutto that was supposed to be part of the dish. A truffled fondue sauce was overkill based on the amount of cheese within the cut of meat. Worst of all, a side of broccoli rabe was oversalted and had hints of fishiness to it, rendering it inedible. Mashed potatoes reaked of being pre-made and seemed a heavy compliment to such a dish. A dining companion of ours barely touched her Nonna’s roast chicken ($17), and it was easy to discern why: the bird was extremely overcooked and dry, which begs the question: how does a place carrying itself as a fine dining establishment destroy something so rudimentary to prepare? It would not have surprised us if our server had suddenly come out to apologize for a new chef manning the kitchen – that’s how mediocre the quality of the food was that evening.
Service is certainly hospitable enough. Our server was patient, cordial, and brutally honest in his opinions on what he believed worked and what didn’t on the menu. Unfortunately for him, there’s not much on the menu that did.
I’d heard second-hand reports that $3 million was invested to renovate Olivadi’s space. While the earthy tones, wooden floor, and dropped ceilings lend a hint of casual intimacy ambience-wise, there’s nothing remotely memorable about it (like the food itself). And by the looks of things on a Sunday evening, in which we were the lone table served, Olivadi may well face a steep climb if it is to celebrate its second anniversary next year. Mezza-mezza food may be acceptable for customers frequenting the Olive Garden, but for Olivadi, we expect much better.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Don’t Believe the Hype with CAV
CAV (short for Coffee, Antiques, and Victuals – all of which the owner has traveled around the word to collect) seems like no other dining experience. Hidden away in a secluded part of downtown Providence, RI in a converted warehouse, the restaurant claims to serve up fusion cuisine as eclectic as its unique space. Over the years, CAV has been showered with rave reviews (i.e. Top 5 restaurant in Providence by the New York Times), but would Paul’s Palate agree with these assessments?
Certainly, CAV’s ambience merits recognition. Though situated in a remote (somewhat unsafe?) neighborhood of Providence that’s a bit challenging to find (CAV’s website has its own set of driving instructions, and instructs customers not to follow Google; there’s a free parking lot behind the restaurant, though, which is a plus), its funky interior is visually intoxicating. From the exposed pipes, brick walls, mirrored ceilings, white lights, to the crystal chandeliers (originally from the Four Seasons Hotel, the owner proudly boasts) and African artwork adorning the walls (carvings, wooden masks, drums, woven rugs, many of which are for sale to the public), it is as if customers were plopped into the movie Beetlejuice- an eye-dropping, dream-like setting, only paired with fine dining.
CAV’s food, however, sadly fails to deliver an equally satisfying sensory experience. For appetizers ($6.95 - $13.95), the calamari ($9.95), which were pan sautéed with fresh garlic, hot peppers, and fresh basil, were disappointingly bland. While the lobster bisque, infused with vanilla extract, packed plenty of flavor, it was served lukewarm and its consistency was not thick enough.
Entrees (pastas $15.95-$18.95, chef specialties $19.95-$28.95) fared somewhat better, though again, failed to deliver on a spectacular scale. Sesame Hijiki encrusted tuna, Sashimi quality, served rare with Wasabi aioli, Maki rolls, and pickled cucumber salad ($23.95) came highly recommended by our server, but I found that the tuna was neither as rare a cut as I had hoped, nor was there much bite to it (Wasabi – what Wasabi?). While my duck ($28.95) tasted delicious, the meat perfectly cooked and melding with creamy mashed sweet potatoes, the presentation was downright ghastly and frankly, disgraceful for a restaurant that prides itself in plating aesthetically pleasing dishes. It looked like the mush slopped onto the plate by the high school cafeteria lunch lady. My wife’s poulet aux Poires, however, a panseared chicken breast with pears poached in a red wine and ginger pear sauce ($21.95), was the rare dish where CAV seemed to find its groove both presentation and taste-wise: ultra-tender chicken with delightful accompaniments, particularly tasty sautéed Asian chive dumplings.
Where some of the food faltered, service was superlative. Our waiter was genial and prompt over the course of the evening, while the equally friendly owner periodically dropped in to greet and check in on our party.
CAV distinguishes itself with its unique interior and exceptional service. If only its cuisine were equally inspiring. On a scale from poor to outstanding, I would rate this establishment’s fare as merely good, but instantly forgettable. Unfortunately, that translates into CAV not living up to its own hype.
Certainly, CAV’s ambience merits recognition. Though situated in a remote (somewhat unsafe?) neighborhood of Providence that’s a bit challenging to find (CAV’s website has its own set of driving instructions, and instructs customers not to follow Google; there’s a free parking lot behind the restaurant, though, which is a plus), its funky interior is visually intoxicating. From the exposed pipes, brick walls, mirrored ceilings, white lights, to the crystal chandeliers (originally from the Four Seasons Hotel, the owner proudly boasts) and African artwork adorning the walls (carvings, wooden masks, drums, woven rugs, many of which are for sale to the public), it is as if customers were plopped into the movie Beetlejuice- an eye-dropping, dream-like setting, only paired with fine dining.
CAV’s food, however, sadly fails to deliver an equally satisfying sensory experience. For appetizers ($6.95 - $13.95), the calamari ($9.95), which were pan sautéed with fresh garlic, hot peppers, and fresh basil, were disappointingly bland. While the lobster bisque, infused with vanilla extract, packed plenty of flavor, it was served lukewarm and its consistency was not thick enough.
Entrees (pastas $15.95-$18.95, chef specialties $19.95-$28.95) fared somewhat better, though again, failed to deliver on a spectacular scale. Sesame Hijiki encrusted tuna, Sashimi quality, served rare with Wasabi aioli, Maki rolls, and pickled cucumber salad ($23.95) came highly recommended by our server, but I found that the tuna was neither as rare a cut as I had hoped, nor was there much bite to it (Wasabi – what Wasabi?). While my duck ($28.95) tasted delicious, the meat perfectly cooked and melding with creamy mashed sweet potatoes, the presentation was downright ghastly and frankly, disgraceful for a restaurant that prides itself in plating aesthetically pleasing dishes. It looked like the mush slopped onto the plate by the high school cafeteria lunch lady. My wife’s poulet aux Poires, however, a panseared chicken breast with pears poached in a red wine and ginger pear sauce ($21.95), was the rare dish where CAV seemed to find its groove both presentation and taste-wise: ultra-tender chicken with delightful accompaniments, particularly tasty sautéed Asian chive dumplings.
Where some of the food faltered, service was superlative. Our waiter was genial and prompt over the course of the evening, while the equally friendly owner periodically dropped in to greet and check in on our party.
CAV distinguishes itself with its unique interior and exceptional service. If only its cuisine were equally inspiring. On a scale from poor to outstanding, I would rate this establishment’s fare as merely good, but instantly forgettable. Unfortunately, that translates into CAV not living up to its own hype.
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