Bob S.
Yelp
Being honest which is not to say I always am, I didn't eat a thing here. It wasn't that kind of event. If you're one of the many who've been following these reviews of mine and you get the suspicion that most really aren't about the place at all then congratulations on being a perceptive individual. Of course this is a travelogue, a diary almost, about... well, me of course. But to keep to the purpose here I add a few salient points of quality that you would want to know, and then again you might consider reading further a waste. If that's the case I won't be offended if you bail out now.
Did you stay with me on this? OK so it's about the inside of this place. I've eaten in a great many Italian restaurants, mainly Manhattan, San Francisco and of course Italy. One thing about Texas, not many Italians (that is, Italo-Americans who had a Nonna) live there. But more than a few are transplanting themselves from high-tax blue states which, oddly enough, do have many Italians. I'm pretty apolitical so no reason to go further with why that might be because my point is if you've grown up eating bbq, chicken fried steak and okra what do you really know to expect from a simple plate of linguine with clams, or particularly bolognese? From the looks of the plates of food here I'd say there's a good wood fired pizza oven; go with it. For some reason a lot of the other stuff seemed to be swimming in sauce and crowned with a too generous pile of parmesan. Why the latter is on seafood really relates to what I said about expectations. Just say no, ok? Italians are inclined to be skimpy on parmesan anyway, not because they're frugal which they are; it's not supposed to be the main event.
Back to the room itself. This is really pretty classic and for me the best part of the place. High ceiling, fans slowly turning the air, long woody bar with big mirrors behind the bottles, funky framed pictures all around the room. None of these seem to be about anything or anybody in particular, it's the dark woody frames actually that caught my eye. Room is underlit for its size and cast a bit of sepia on things at night. The floor and bartop aren't marble, but neither is this Brooklyn. So when you enter, look to the far left corner for a nice, quiet little table. That's where we sat for our reunion.
Now this "we" is the real point of why I wrote this in the first place, but in my defense I first mentioned a few useful suggestions (pizza, hold the parmesan, drain the excess sauce, admire the Italiano classico sense of the place). She was the centerpiece for me in my last year here longago. Without her I wouldn't likely have made it where I am now, but at the time I had many painful things on my plate. So I left in the middle of the night and now was back to say what was really on my mind, in my heart at the time, and why it was better for her I left. If you have such a complex meeting someday in this town, forget the parvenu hipster joints in town and come out to this little place in the neighborhood where it seems somehow timeless. In the end I was so caught up by that moment with her I left my laptop behind. But 5 miles later the waiter called, which might not happen in certain parts of NY.