May. 29th, 2014 12:56 pm
Eataly: il ri-ritorno
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muckefuckSaturday was the Old Man's birthday, but--for logistical reasons--Friday became his "birthday observed" (as he kept telling our friends, methinks in a doomed attempt to get them not to pay for his brunch). We chose dinner at Oysy due in part to its proximity to the IML host hotel, but I urged him to let his fantasy wander further when it came to his lunch. Any fancy place in River North or the Loop I was willing to take him. At first he suggested Purple Pig, but when I reminded him of his desire to try the seafood place at Eataly, he instantly changed loyalties.
Our previous dinner visit was derailed by Nuphiness and undone by teething pains. But this time it was just us and the staff have had half a year to grow into their roles. Certainly our server at Pesce was so professional that I suspected he'd been shipped in from NYC, which he denied. We came during the tail end of the lunch rush which is, in some ways, the worse time to visit any restaurant. Yes, the height of the crush is over, but the kitchen is often backed up and people often seem to be going off shift or at least taking a break right around 2 p.m.
It took us about 40 minutes to get our food, which isn't terrible considering that the GWO ordered a baked dish. In a real test of their timing, I got grilled scallops; we were convinced one of the entrees would end up being held too long waiting for the other, but neither showed any sign of it. The buttery scallops were piping hot and not the least bit overcooked. (At roughly $7/piece, another less would've been cause for complaint.) His problems with his stuffed branzino had nothing to do with the preparation and everything to do with it simply not being a very interesting fish. (No prizes for guessing that he was led to order it by multiple mentions in Donna Leon.) Our starter was salmon carpaccio.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu ordered a side of roasted asparagus, which were perfectly good but suffered by comparison to the flawlessly fantastic spears we'd had a Maude's Liquor Bar the weekend before.
Afterwards we went hunting for ingredients. The GWO had that pizza bianca he wanted to make and I'd only just read about a Venetian pasta dish that sounded right up my alley. Locating the cheeses was easy (though we managed to stop just short of where the fontina was hiding); finding an acceptable substitute for bigoli (rustic whole wheat spaghetti) proved trickier. We gave up waiting for help in the dried pasta section, but I eventually found someone who steered me toward the fresh, where the spaghetti alla chitarra made from Kamut looked suitable enough.
I could've browsed some more, but my better half was jonesing for his post-prandial espresso. I joined him in this, getting something called an espresso torinese the was composed of equal parts coffee, hot chocolate, and steamed milk. (I took one look at the line for gelato and concluded I wasn't really that interested.)
Our previous dinner visit was derailed by Nuphiness and undone by teething pains. But this time it was just us and the staff have had half a year to grow into their roles. Certainly our server at Pesce was so professional that I suspected he'd been shipped in from NYC, which he denied. We came during the tail end of the lunch rush which is, in some ways, the worse time to visit any restaurant. Yes, the height of the crush is over, but the kitchen is often backed up and people often seem to be going off shift or at least taking a break right around 2 p.m.
It took us about 40 minutes to get our food, which isn't terrible considering that the GWO ordered a baked dish. In a real test of their timing, I got grilled scallops; we were convinced one of the entrees would end up being held too long waiting for the other, but neither showed any sign of it. The buttery scallops were piping hot and not the least bit overcooked. (At roughly $7/piece, another less would've been cause for complaint.) His problems with his stuffed branzino had nothing to do with the preparation and everything to do with it simply not being a very interesting fish. (No prizes for guessing that he was led to order it by multiple mentions in Donna Leon.) Our starter was salmon carpaccio.
monshu ordered a side of roasted asparagus, which were perfectly good but suffered by comparison to the flawlessly fantastic spears we'd had a Maude's Liquor Bar the weekend before.Afterwards we went hunting for ingredients. The GWO had that pizza bianca he wanted to make and I'd only just read about a Venetian pasta dish that sounded right up my alley. Locating the cheeses was easy (though we managed to stop just short of where the fontina was hiding); finding an acceptable substitute for bigoli (rustic whole wheat spaghetti) proved trickier. We gave up waiting for help in the dried pasta section, but I eventually found someone who steered me toward the fresh, where the spaghetti alla chitarra made from Kamut looked suitable enough.
I could've browsed some more, but my better half was jonesing for his post-prandial espresso. I joined him in this, getting something called an espresso torinese the was composed of equal parts coffee, hot chocolate, and steamed milk. (I took one look at the line for gelato and concluded I wasn't really that interested.)
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Next year come here to celebrate where the "birthday boy" is expected to pay for everyone's lunch, including his own. As an added plus you can practice your català.
Carles
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