Restaurant Review finds itself as a Short Story

You know the moment during the happy birthday song in which everyone in the restaurant mumbles the name of the beamingly embarrassed person who sits at a table full of drunken, but equally beaming, friends? At Café Paradiso, this seems to be a thrice nightly occurrence; middle aged men and women ringing in their birthdays with some good wine, good food, and newfound friends. Yet, for some strange reason, this annoying phenomenon ceases to be annoying upon entering Paradiso. Strolling there from my house, a mere five minute walk, set the scene for what I was to find at the Café’s threshold—the lanky Italian owner waiting to greet us, a large table in the intimate forty-five person restaurant, and both an acerbically witty waiter as well as an overly sentimental yet altogether pleasant one. The cast of characters transported me to Italy for dinner at my distant cousins villa, at least, it would have if I had distant home-cooking Italian cousins.

We glanced at the menu, which was short enough to make a quick decision, yet appealing enough to warrant a second glance. The warm bread with crackling crust and fluffy white center told me to take my choice seriously. When the calamari with cannelloni beans arrived, I was wary—the calamari was crustless, not a fried tentacle in sight; instead, pieces of lightly garlic-ed bread were wedged into the mountain of spicy tomato sauce covered squid rings. Chewy would seem to indicate a less than desirable consistency, but the octopus was chewy in a way that redefines the word. The beans, which exploded open after the slight snap as I bit through the skin, lent a creamy compliment to the calamari perched on the crunch-perfect toasted bread. Though I am not generally a fan of spice, as I often feel that it overpowers rather than enhances food (even after the pleas of my spice-loving boyfriend), this dish was the very opposite.

As I alternated between wine and water to cool my slightly burning lips, the owner came over to chat. He told us the story of a man whose cousin came to visit, convinced him to open another restaurant (his first, La Finestra, was in the Valley), and then the cousin found his marriage in trouble and ran off to work it out with his wife, leaving the man with two restaurants to manage by himself. The owner told us that the man, who, we were certain, was none other than the owner himself, sold his other restaurant to take on a new challenge. This story proved two things: one being that I was right in my assertion that cousins were involved in this restaurant somehow and two, that family drama makes for good Italian food. The salad arrived and with gorgonzola, pine nuts, red peppers, and sun-dried tomatoes, it had all of my favorite ingredients on one plate. When I managed to corral all of the ingredients on to one forkful, the result was pure harmony; yet, easier said than forked, and most times I ended up with a bite that was sadly lacking in one of the key flavors. On a more positive note, the balsamic and olive oil on the greens managed to both fully cover the salad and also remain unobtrusive to the fresh ingredients—buono I say.

Off came both sweaters that I came layered in, the restaurant was warm and humming with conversation and we were off to a pleasant start. The entrees arrived and we all agreed they were solidly good, though it was the vibe of the restaurant that increased the pleasure I found in enjoying my lobster ravioli slowly. The “light tomato brandy sauce” turned out to be a bit on the heavy side, both in quantity and flavor. Had the flavors in the ravioli been stronger, the assertive sauce wouldn’t have been a problem; yet I craved the subtle sweetness in the lobster that was masked in the process. However, every so often, lets say, every other raviolo or so, a large piece of lobster tucked neatly into the ravioli filling would bring the flavor and the break in the creamy texture that I so desired, making the rest worth the wait. As I reached across the table to steal a bite of the steaming Osso Buco, it easily fell off the bone, onto my fork, and into my mouth—much to the chagrin of the dinner companion to whom the meat belonged. It was exactly as expected, a well-cooked cut of meat, juicy and sweet in flavor. The gnocchi lovingly placed in a pile next to the Osso Buco retained the earthy taste of a fresh potato while giving it an unnaturally creamy consistency. As the gnocchi and meat combination melted in my mouth, I felt a slight desire for less gnocchi stuck to the crevices of my back teeth and more in my stomach. A solid, though not innovative, main course, I waited to see what desert would bring.

The fresh strawberries over vanilla ice cream with balsamic sauce was the chef’s special recipe, while the tiramisu was touted (like most Italian restaurants) as the best. We ordered both. The tiramisu, which I should disclaim, is not my favorite desert in general, was fluffy light and relatively on the unsweetened chocolate side of the spectrum. The cocoa powder dusted heavily on top caused a slight coughing attack before I could let the light and dark desert dissolve on my tongue. As for the strawberry balsamic desert, the vinegar flavor certainly hits your tongue first, sending your brain the signal “no, no, I wanted desert;” yet, less than a second later your brain backpedals, realizing the balsamic flavor is balanced by the sweet-tangy balsamic soaked strawberry slice and the cool vanilla ice cream. As you adjust to the flavor, you find yourself spooning the balsamic syrupy ice cream soup from the bottom of the bowl—I know I did.