Journey to remote location brings the taste of Italy no closer
Got to start watching those tips. And no, I'm not talking about the long-term financial consequences of over-rewarding waitstaff . Rather, I'm referring to my swallowing those seemingly harmless morsels of advice from friends and colleagues about restaurants that just "have to" be visited. I really should be more careful about this. Forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes.
To be fair, Piccola Italia is not an Italian restaurant in the sense that Vera Italia is, but it's not pretending to be either. Not really, anyway. Its remote location en route to the airport and modest prices are evidence of restrained ambitions. However, that's as far I go in supporting this its raison d'etre.
When Zosia and I hopped off the tram last Saturday night and headed toward the lights of Piccola Italia, my heart sank: a concrete-block building dressed with red Dojlidy beer awnings. Oh no. A ketchup lovers' pizzeria?
Our waitress greeted us with a smile and asked us to choose our own table. She then brought us a couple of plastic Polish/Italian menus printed in red and green. Hmmm, no English there. In some cases, no Polish either. Strange. I didn't know there were so many Italians in Rakowiec.
Despite my first impression that there would likely be only pizza, spaghetti, and ravioli on the menu, Piccola Italia offers a variety of fare. Antipasto includes a prosciutto, salami, spicy salami and lonza plate (zl. 27), which I ordered, and Zosia's grzanki (zl. 12): four toasted slices of French bread topped with tomatoes, chopped black olives, prosciutto, melted mozzarella and garlic butter. These we decided to nibble on with a bottle of dry white Pinot Gaglio '98 (zl. 55), the waitress's recommendation. This bottle of wine would turn out to be the high point of the evening. It was dry, light and eminentlydrinkable.
Unfortunately, our appetizers couldn't keep up. My prosciutto was old. Dry and curling at the edges, it had clearly been sitting around for awhile, and looked a little bit sad, as though it had spent the afternoon perched on a plate in the kitchen, longing for a customer who would not want to order pizza. While the two salamis and lonza were fresher, my enthusiasm was already curbed. I asked Zosia about her grzanki.
"It's just like I do at home," she said, implying it was nothing special. So much for the appetizers.
Since the waitress did so well with the wine, I thought I would ask her to recommend an entree. After all, maybe the chef had a specialty. With pizza, tortellini, risoto, ravioli, lasagne, penne, veal dishes, grilled salmon and other meats to choose from (zl. 18-zl. 36), I was curious to hear what she would have to say. Veal with tomato sauce, oregano and mozzarella (zl. 27), she said, was the best veal dish, and yes, the mixed grilled meats (zl. 36) were also good. Meat it would be then. We also ordered a couple of salads: the "Salatka Piccola Italia" (zl. 15) for me and a tomato salad (zl. 12) for Zosia.
While waiting for our entrees to arrive we took a look around the room. By then a couple of other customers had drifted in to occupy another two of the restaurant's 10 tables. We also noticed that some of the staff were playing cards at a table in front of the bar. Fortunately, our waitress was conscientious enough to keep turning her head to see if we needed anything.
The restaurant itself can't escape being located in a concrete block. Renovated, blonde-paneled walls adorned with beer mirrors, flags of Italy, and a television set mounted in the corner cranking out sappy Italian MTV didn't do much to convince us that we were even close to the Wlochy district, much less inside an Italian restaurant.
When our entrees arrived I was disappointed. On my plate sat three small pieces of veal with melted mozzarella, tomato sauce, and sprinkled dried oregano on top. Playing second fiddle to this modest ensemble were a couple of leaves of iceberg lettuce, a tomato wedge, and a single fresh leaf of basil. The veal, though tenderized, wasn't tender enough, but the tomato sauce, well, I asked Zosia to taste it.
"Okropny," she said, summing up my sentiments exactly. She went on to explain that the mild, semi-sweet sauce reminded her of dom wczasowy tomato soup (not sauce) served at state-sponsored vacation resorts under communism. I just thought the stuff smacked of souped-up ketchup, not as blatant as in some Central European pizzerias, but still a poor man's Ragu.
The "Piccola Italia" salad was also disappointing: iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and shredded carrots without dressing. Yawn.
Zosia was happier with her mixed grilled meats. The chicken breast, couple of pork spare ribs, small lamb chop, and hunk of lean beef were rather dry, I thought, and could have benefited from a side order of any kind of sauce apart from tomato. They were passable though. And her rather ordinary tomato salad wasn't helped by the fact that tomatoes aren't in season.
There was still a chance for redemption with dessert. "Tiramisu," our waitress quickly recommended. Aw, why not, I thought. Zosia ordered the fruit salad (zl. 12), which was nothing more than canned fruit cocktail and a couple of pieces of kiwi scraped into a dessert glass. That's what she expected though, so she wasn't disappointed when it arrived. My tiramisu was more than I envisioned: creamy, moist, and fresh. I could only eat half of it though, and washed it down with a real espresso (zl. 5). Our bill came to zl. 218 ($53) without tip.
In short, don't go to Piccola Italia thinking it could possibly be in the same league as any of Warsaw's upscale Italian eateries. Despite the good service, wine, and espresso, it just isn't worth the trip.
