Carrie James
Google
If you haven't heard of this little hidden gem, I highly recommend getting a reservation as soon as yesterday.
I came in with dignity. Left in a food-induced stupor.
First up, a classic Italian antipasto plate. The plate that started it all (And by 'all' I mean my downfall)
They brought out this appetizer like it was no big deal — just a casual mountain of fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, and green apples casually drizzled in balsamic glaze, as if I wasn’t about to lose all self-control in front of polite society.
The mozzarella was so creamy I briefly considered using it as a moisturizer.
The prosciutto? Paper-thin slices of salty betrayal, wrapping themselves lovingly around my willpower.
My meal, a rolled veal chop with mushroom marsala cream sauce over penne — which, frankly, was so good I considered calling my therapist about it. Tender, juicy, drenched in sauce like it had just finished a soap opera crying scene. I would fight a bear for another bite.
Heather ordered these little stuffed pasta purses — because apparently, the chef enjoys personally attacking her self-control. Tiny pasta bags of joy, each one filled with happiness, carbs, and future poor decisions.
To wash down all the emotions?
A Blackberry Bourbon Smash that tasted like summer had a one-night stand with a whiskey barrel.
A Lemon Blueberry Martini that was so dangerously smooth, I briefly thought I was a professional dancer.
At this point, I’m convinced this restaurant is a trap. A delicious, buttery, soul-satisfying trap.
10/10 would let them ruin my life again.