Edmund Osbaldeston
Google
We were a table of seven Americans, and with that comes certain caveats and assumptions for you, the reader. A couple of us can be loud. One of our group doesn’t eat meat, but we all made an effort to be polite and observe basic Italian manners. Several in the party are self-described foodies, and we all deeply appreciate local food and culture.
Starters:
Woe to the sad truffle that adorned two of our dishes. The first was beef carpaccio, generously topped with shaved truffle. Truffle is famously pungent; you often smell it before you see it. And yet, in this instance, laying a slice of black truffle flat on my tongue barely registered that telltale earthiness. The rest of the carpaccio was fairly forgettable.
The eggplant, however, was good. It was soft and delicate, without bitterness. The sauce was light and creamy, and the judicious use of red sauce between the slices was flavorful and tomato-forward. Little did we know, when it arrived first, that it would be the highlight of the meal.
What followed was a 30-minute wait before the final starter arrived. The snails were overpowered by a sauce that resembled more of a ragù. The dish tasted fine, but it did nothing to showcase the snails themselves.
Pasta Courses:
The Cacio de Pepe and the beef pappardelle fared the best at the table during the second round. Unfortunately, the disappointing truffle made an encore appearance atop the ravioli. The ravioli itself was fine. The filling of Chianina beef was inoffensive, but the truffle’s absence of flavor made the dish feel two-dimensional.
Mains:
The sliced beef was the safe choice and delivered a safe, satisfactory main. It was cooked closer to medium rare, which, thankfully, was uncommon in the land of Florentine steaks and their signature black and blue doneness.
The duck was frustratingly disappointing. The breast was overcooked, dry, and verging on tough. (See picture) The red wine reduction was good, jammy with a hint of pepper, but the accompanying white purée was indistinguishable from wallpaper paste. I think it was meant to be puréed parsnip, but it tasted like watery potato.
The pork with apples featured a vin santo reduction. The sauce was excellent, the best part of the dish. The apples were fine, but once again the meat was overcooked.
But the strangest service moment came when the one vegetarian in our group received a simple salad in addition to roasted vegetables with pistachios. She asked for balsamic vinegar, as she had the night before at another restaurant. There, she was brought olive oil and a spray bottle of standard balsamic. Here, however, the waitress sprayed the salad two or three times, then looked at the patron and asked if she wanted more, in a tone that suggested the question wasn’t entirely sincere. This wasn’t some 40 year old aged balsamic, it was your ubiquitous salad spray.
By this point, we had abandoned any remaining optimism for dessert. We paid and made a hasty exit.
Overall the food had some good elements, predominantly the sauces. But the Rotisseur had some personal vendetta against properly cooked meat. We were all surprised by their repeated acknowledgement from Michelin and hope that this was simply an off night.
