I don’t write about restaurants. I happen to think they are very personal things. Each and every person has a distinct affinity for the venue, the atmosphere and the food. I consider their evaluation to generally be highly subjective – and in my humble experience I have found the opinions of others to be off the mark. So, when I tread, I tread cautiously.
My son Ryan has done some substantive traveling. He has always had a wanderlust of sorts – going way back to the time I panicked when he ran off into the crowd of a couple of hundred people in the Green Village Fire House when we went to see Santa. He was probably 2. I had never been aware of my own inclination to wander off in a sea of people, untethered, feeling free as a bird – until now. But, he was “there” from the beginning.
Ryan has gotten to giving me (unsolicited, may I say) suggestions on restaurants to eat in in foreign (and domestic – Mom, go to Nobu in Malibu) cities. Huh? What is wrong with this picture? When your 22 year old son knows more great places to eat from his travels and those of his friends and you are 60 and consider yourself a fairly competent food-aware person, and his recommendations are indeed good or great, well then…….. All I can say is, and I say this with much chagrin, I guess I need to catch up with Ryan. Let me just say that he has inherited all of those super-aware genes that my Father had – especially in the palate and olfactory departments. (Incidentally, the Dover Sole I had at Nobu in London was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.)
He had given me a couple of lists several weeks before we left. And, he started asking me if I’d made reservations. I hadn’t. It is curious that I am notorious for not planning food venues ahead (this makes Ryan fume). It is part of my take-it-as-it-comes approach, I guess. I don’t like to have everything nailed down and I like to see the allure of a restaurant before I go there. More on this later.
Then, when we were in Italy he started on La Giostra. The last text read, “if you don’t go there, I’ll be really mad at you.” Well, goodness only knows I don’t want Ryan to be mad at me so I handed the Concierge in Florence a list of restaurants right away for our 4 nights. Generally speaking, my fierce streak of independence does not allow for being sent off with “go here, order this” from anyone. Period. But, in this case, I was more than curious and, game (he had been quite successful at badgering me). There must be something here, no?
La Giostra – let’s just say the commentary about this place wasn’t what I wanted to hear. First and foremost was “Brad and Angelina eat there”. And, “lots of celebrities eat there.” Ugh – this is exactly the opposite of what I am looking for. But, Ryan’s threat stood higher on the list. He actually said, “Mom, it’s the best ravioli I’ve ever had.” Ok, I’m up for challenging that one.
George and I stepped out for our walk to the restaurant with happy anticipation. I literally had no idea what to expect. Curiously, I actually avoid reading any or a lot of reviews before I go to a place such as this. I don’t really want my experience to be colored by what’s said by others – I don’t want the words of someone else pre-planted in my psyche, so that I begin with a comparison to someone else’s senses. I prefer to do this in my own completely unbiased way, a “blind tasting” as they call it in the wine business – if that’s what you can call this; in this case it was only biased by a majority of one).
Let me just say at the outset that I go way out of my way these days to avoid the likes of Ravioli and Burrata Mozzarella – the two items Ryan insisted that I order.
We trundled on down Via del Corso and got sort of lost – an occurrence I tend to love. We back-tracked and consulted the map a couple of times – this is indeed part of the fun of walking around here – the “streets” can be very confusing – odd juxtapositions all over – zigs and zags off at odd angles being very common. Anyway, arrive we did, at this totally inconspicuous location (love that), and stepped inside. All was very unassuming looking – small, narrow foyer, you stand and wait to be assisted, photos all around, but charming and homey-feeling. Nothing ostentatious here – no New York thing going on – I liked it immediately, but still wanted to see if it lived up to Ryan’s assessment. (Is it a mother’s inherent prerogative to test their children’s instincts?)
We were seated in the back of the main dining room where we could get a good view of what was going on. I love to assess the mood in restaurants – the mood of the staff first. Let me just say that the people here are all very gracious and do everything to make you feel welcome. A complimentary glass of Prosecco was the first offering. Next, is a complimentary antipasti plate. Ok, this is good. I scoured the all-Italian menu for the items Ryan “suggested” I try. (why did I have the disturbing feeling of being a child dispensed with a note from the teacher?) His explanation of the appetizer was relatively mangled – some burrata thing with mandarin oranges. Ok, so I narrowed things down, figuring it had to be “Stracciatella Di Burrata Pugliese Dop Con Pompelmo Rosa”. Done. George ordered the Carpaccio Di Zucchine E Melanzane Con Pecorino.
When my plate arrived I was overwhelmed and wary of the potential gastrointestinal impact of this dish. And, I slowly if not carefully dove in – all the while thinking, no one in their right mind would eat all of this Burrata by themselves in one seating…..
This was indeed a serving size of Burrata that I would consider placing out for a group of guests. Accompanying the au gratin dish of burrata were small dishes of walnuts, honey and what Ryan must have termed the “mandarin orange” stuff. Then there were three smalls slices of pompelmo rosa (pink grapefruit). Pompelmo Rosa – two such beautiful words! Let me just say I am a sucker for anything served with honey – and I’m definitely game for little specially-chosen-accompaniments such as these. Ok, so I’ll just go light on the cheese part, I said to myself. One forkful. Two. Well, the best way to put this is that in America, I have never tasted burrata such as this. The words “light” “pillow” “delicate” and “uncanny” hit my palate. Dare I continue? Well, let’s just say that somewhere along the line I made the decision that the risk was worth the indulgence. No where else is this quality available. No where I’ve been, anyway. Yum. I swabbed the dish clean with a slight sinking feeling of sadness when it was over.
Next, the entrée. I had put the supposition to the waiter (note that the definition of supposition is “an uncertain belief”) – my son told me to come here and what to order. I politely inquired about the ravioli with “gorgonzola and pears” as Ryan had termed it. I was quickly but politely corrected, “it is pecorino and pears and, it is the house specialty.” But no bravado – I like that – just kindly setting the record straight. I immediately knew this man had undoubtedly suffered at the hands of many a fool such as I, but he was entirely gracious and kind.
Ok, so next I was about to try the “best ravioli I’ve ever had” according to Ryan. Really? My Mom and my Grandmother Sandelli made some mean Ravioli, the latter being limberly mixed upon the kitchen counter, no bowl needed, on copious numbers of Sundays in my childhood. Out came a relatively humble portion of something that could not be evaluated properly based upon its appearance:
Ok, so the term “blind faith” flashes through my mind – when in fact, I should by now be more than somewhat convinced, and being forced, oh-so-reluctantly to admit, Ryan could be right-on-the-mark.
One fork. Heavy sigh. Delicate, honest, earthy, perfectly-melded, satiating (after all that Burrata) let’s see, what is the right word? Words fail. Only that I had to force myself to savor each bite and not to gobble these up in couple of minutes. Little pillows of perfect harmony……. There is no forward flavor here, no stab of pear, no bite of pecorino – only the softest melding of sumptuousness. Yum #2. Oh gosh, I was going to have to tell him and get the perfectly-favorite line of “I told you so” thrown back in my face! Isn’t that my line? Ok, so I give in, yes, he is right and we slowly finish up and wander out in a haze of heady happiness. George had the rack of goat, being gently recommended – and he loved it.
And, I can’t help feeling how lucky I am to be here…………
And, what could ever top this? Mental note: must return. And we did. Let me just say that our concierge was not surprised when we inquired about returning to La Giostra for a second dinner – no trepidation about this decision. Only 4 nights, only 4 dinners? Yes. We agreed George had to have the exact appetizer and entrée I had – couldn’t leave here without…….
Let me just say that I could eat or work, happily, in this kitchen, every night for the rest of my life. There is the uncanny mixture of friendliness, comfort and great food in a charmingly-understated space. No screaming, limelight, notoriety-seeking jamboree nor boisterous “you must fight to get into here” tonality. I love it.
Let me just say (again) that I am left with the sentiment that I want to happily lead every single person that I love dearly here for a meal. That’s all. (oh, was that not Ryan’s sentiment to begin with? <3)