The Venice restaurant Gjelina needs no introduction.
Welp, I think my work is done here. See you guys tomorrow!
Oh, wait. Right. The review. Whoops! Forgot about that part.
My monthly dinner club (for very erudite people who are also semi-functional alcoholics) chose the popular (New) American/Mediterranean eatery for last month’s meeting, but stupid Mark (he’s not stupid, just…different) forgot about the whole “reservation” aspect of fine dining and was shocked — shocked! — to learn that one needed to book a table weeks in advance to eat at Gjelina. The fool, had he dined there twice before (as I have, once with my mother and once with my ex) he would have known how difficult it can be to secure a seat.
Our night began at the Brig, a fun little bar down the street, where I procured a number of whiskey shots for the club and a can of Fat Tire for myself. I’d be damned if I was going to stroll into such a hoity-toity establishment with anything less than a solid buzz. You see…Gjelina has this reputation for being a bit snooty. They made headlines (and scored some sweet free publicity) when some A-List celebrity I can’t be bothered to Google asked to make a substitution or alter a dish only to be flat-out rejected. A friend of mine who works in reality TV on a food show tried to produce a segment at Gjelina and once again ran into an arrogant employee who scoffed at the idea of participating in the TV show. So…yeah, I felt the most subversive thing I could do to counteract the snobbishness was show up a little bit tipsy. And I did. And then I drank two bottles of wine. The rest, as they say in history books, is HITLER! HITLER! WORLD WAR II! WOOOOT!! PARTY!! SPRING BREAK!
Our meal began with a beautiful plate of Hama Hama oysters. I fucking hate oysters. But these were good! They were served with shaved horseradish and some kinds of sauces. We ordered a plate of the wood-roasted cauliflower with garlic, chili and vinegar. That disappeared almost immediately, so David jumped out of his seat and all but tackled our waitress (who was a little cunty and didn’t want to chat or joke around with us) in order to request the duck liver and pork shoulder pate with mustard, pickles, mizuna and toasts. I liked the pate, but it was definitely strong on the pork without as much yummy fat from the liver. Did I just type “yummy…liver?” Who the fuck am I, some old Jewish guy at my old family dinners who can’t get enough of the liver on toast? Gross.
Next came the lamb meatballs with tomato and an unknown cheese, and the ricotta gnocchi pomodoro, which is still the best god damned gnocchi I’ve ever had in all my pitiful existence. They were so pillowy soft and bursting with flavor, it was like each little dumpling melted in your mouth. Not because they were cold or anything. But because they were, uh…quick, what’s a physical property of a food item that would lead to it melting in your mouth? I failed high school chemistry.
The pizzas came and went almost without notice. That’s because two of the three pies we ordered were totally ordinary! On my previous trips to Gjelina I’ve had the chorizo, tomato, cream, fennel, fontina, chili and basil pie, the radicchio, bacon, fintina and tomato confit pie and the lamb sausage, confit tomato, rapine, pecorino and asiago pie. Those were good. This time we had the lamb sausage (far and away the best pizza we had), the duck sausage, nameko mushroom, mozzarella and garlic pie (meh!) and the gruyere, caramelized onion, fromage blank and arugula pie (meh-er!). Oh yeah, we finished our larger plates course with a fuckin’ rib-eye (I think?) that was peppercorn-topped and cooked perfectly. Louise got a fatty end piece and complained. I think my new nickname for Louise is going to be “fatty end piece” now. Don’t tell her.
Desserts included my go-to warm strawberry and rhubarb crisp with almond gelato, and my new favorite that will soon replace the crisp, the butterscotch pot de creme with salted caramel and creme fraiche. It tasted identical to the butterscotch dish I had at Jar a few weeks ago (and even looked identical), which is to say it was awesome. So salty. So creamy. The perfect dessert.
I’d recommend Gjelina if you don’t care about being treated like shit by the person waiting on you and have a cool group of friends who don’t mind throwing down $75 bones a piece to share 11 plates, two bottles of wine and some beers. Hell, when I put it like that it almost seems like a bargain!
It’s not a bargain. But fuck you, you’ll eat there and love it anyway.
Sorry no pictures this time. I forgot my camera. But after the meal we did stop at a 711 for some forty-ounce beers and a bunch of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. A few hours later I passed out on the couch. Best dinner club yet?
Andy Arthurs – I Can Detect You For 100,000 Miles (yes I’m reposting this because this song has been stuck in my head for a week)
