La Disfida

109 Ramsay Street, Haberfield
Tuesday - Sunday, 6pm - 10.30pm

Hands down, this is the best pizza in Sydney.

I usually weigh my opinions on food-houses based on more than just the food and it's quality, such as service and atmosphere, however it testifies to La Disfida's phenomenon that this place can still stand to completely ignore those other factors.

Despite my patronage for some goodly time, and I really mean goodly, there is barely a smile when I traverse their entrance, nor even a polite greeting to speak of. I have to say, without stereotyping too much, it is very typical of the area. If you are not in with speaking about the new bambini or gossiping about which landlord is going to buy the business due up for sale in seven months (yeah, it's a very 'indie' crowd), prepare to be rightfully ignored. And y'know what, it really ain't that bad. Even with my connections in both the area and with the owners I still barely manage to dredge any recognition from their faces.

Now that I have filled up my little complaints box, my true love for the food here shall come to be. Now. Rino Lattanzio knows what the hell should be done with dough and a few quality ingredients. The woodfire oven stands towards the back and at the end of the length of counter that strides across the first room. The external bricks are toasty warm and the small cracks of timber and burning embers fill the lulls in the hubbub of conversation around. They have made the relatively recent amendment to the restaurant by creating a hole between the two floors, for the purpose of viewing the master at work with his trade. Is nice.
So as the oven dominates the warm and dimly lit room with it's brick intensity, you get to make the awful decision of eliminating the pizza's you won't have. It is therefore a good idea to bring a friend or thirteen. Because last time I checked, that's how many pizzas are on the menu. There is no question that you pick (at least) one pizza all to yourself. It's not gluttony here, it's the beauty of ultrAA-thin crusts and relatively little else. See, tradition is good for some things! All choices kill it, but the one's I have a seemingly large amount of trouble going past, are the Diavola and the Crudaiola. The Diavola basically translates to devil, and it is if you can't handle the rad that is chilli. The simplicity of crushed tomatoes, the thinnest coating of mozzarella you ain't ever seen, chilli, olives, the hottest damn salami evrrr, and a few anchovies is mind-blowing. I hate anchovies, and yet I manage to love them on this pizza. Go figure! The Crudaiola, as far as I can tell, refers to the raw tomatoes used on this pizza - crudo being the root of it's name. Topped also with the same (not literally) mozzerella, as well as garlic, basil, a good sprinkling of pine nuts, and a lovely dashing of olive oil, this pizza is the freshest damn one you can get. You'll feel like you picked the ingredients yourself from la tenuta di famiglia right back in Italy.
My verdict was made long ago. And now it officially stands. Yerr! Ain't nothin' to be done about it! \o/ Whhhheeeeeeeeee!

The pizza here is so damned good.
What else is there to say about this place? It says a lot about this place that it manages to win prizes in publications such as the Good Food Guide while disparaging its service. The good news is that the service here isn't terrible. It just isn't up to the standards of the food.

OK, it's a tad cold. But come on, what kind of person are you if you let a little bit of unfriendliness stop you from eating some delicious-ass pizza?

A person I'm not inviting to La Disfida.
All the Pizzas I've tried here have been delicious. So full of flavour, so incredibly edible. Other pizza just seems like.. cardboard in comparison (Ed: It's because it is!!). Here, they just get the simple things right. You can taste the tomato in the base. The salami is hot. The speck is covered with bocconcini.

Okay, that last one isn't that simple. But if you have eaten it before, you realise how delicious it is.

Pizza doesn't seem like that difficult a thing to get right. It seems like something that everybody should get right. Why does it take a small pizza place in Haberfield to show us that we shouldn't settle for bland pizza where all the flavours mix into each other to the point of gray? Shouldn't all food be this wholesome, this flavourful?
The answer = Yes.

It's not the nicest restaurant ever, but you could do a hell of a lot worse. Nothing to complain about, unless you're one of those customers who expect pampering. Turn up, order everything on the menu twice and eat till your face falls off. Because life is about enjoying the simple things. Simple things like being a pizza glutton.

Rosso Pomodoro

Shop 90-91, 24 Buchanan Street, Balmain
Tuesday - Sunday, from 6pm to late

I already had my favourite pizzeria in Sydney, and for at least 12 years that did not change. I need to clarify now that it still hasn't changed, however there was, if but for one moment, perhaps a possible contender. Imagine that?

Scurrying in from the night, the warm smell hits your nose and tickles the memories of times past and comforting. Having no idea just how popular this place was, we were almost turned away on a Thursday evening due to the inordinate amount of people already seated and the bookings ready to arrive. It was our luck that we had to be at a friend's for a hootenanny and so when we told of our desire to eat quickly and be out of there in a shot, the all-smiling woman at the front was more than happy to fit us in. We were served by lovely man, who was evidently a newish import, and was as charmingly suave and European as one can get. Helpful too!
Beautifully thin crusts are definitely a must for any pizza. Here, they prove the dough for these delightful circles of deliciousness for several days before baking. This somehow manages to make the pizza soft on the inside and rightly crisp on the outside exposed to the flames of the wood-fire oven. Flames and flamingoes. There is a really distinct taste to the dough here, that which I have trouble putting anything specific upon, however which seems to develop somewhere within the salt region...of my memory? Tastes? Very Mediterranean, and very "let's-all-go-to-the-seaside-whheeee!". As for the toppings, well, they are divine. Applied sparingly and using only the freshest ingredients, the seemingly minimalist expression of this veritable art allows one to savour each and every taste. So fresh, in fact, that there exists within Rosso Pomodoro their very own glass meats cabinet, from which they procure their thinly sliced cuts of salami and prosciutto. It is, evidently, extremely tiny if you use the Nutella jar for scale. Then consider that same jar to be really flippin' huge.

It's not on the beaten track so you may, should you forget the address, as we did, have to ask a local for where in Balmain this place exists. It was encouraging that, when I asked a complete stranger for directions to the place on the other side of the suburb, I was greeted with a smile and an excited willingness to draw on my road map. Obviously the locals definitely think Rosso Pomodoro kicks some serious culo in the land of Pizza.

And so it is thus. Rosso Pomodoro gives me both service and pizza that is authentically Southern Italian; warm, crisp, and not just a little bit fresh. Congratulations, you receive second prize. Booyah!

Oh, and they also have a set of rules that must be obeyed. And apparently, they've written some rules for themselves to follow. Just in case someone starts cooking the pizzas in the microwave.

This is my favourite pizza place in Sydney.

Now, strangely enough, this isn't the best pizza in Sydney. But it's so damned close, that the charm of the place tips it over the edge. Although it looks like nothing special from the outside, as soon as you open the door, the charming hustle and bustle hits you in the face like a mighty bazooka. Smiles and laughter from staff and customer alike, and specials on the chalkboard that have me drooling from the outset.

I have no point of reference for "authenticity" in pizza. American style pizza, Italian style pizza, I have equal fondness for both. However, the execution of the traditional Italian style here is flawless. I dig the thin crust , giving maximum emphasis on the delicious toppings on offer. It's the kind of food that tastes like something you'd make at home if you had a giant wood fire oven and the perfect ingredients, as well as a recipe pried from the hands of an old Italian grandmother. Soul-warming food.
We got brilliant service here, and everybody in the restaurant seemed in high spirits. This is precisely the type of food that facilitates a good time, and it seemed that they understood their role perfectly. The room exerted a distinctly Italian vibe, from the proud AC Milan scarf to the fake FIFA world cup trophy on display. The rules chalked up on the wall provides a smile as well as an implicit guarantee of quality, being strict enough to be serious without being at all restrictive on anyone with respect for those who are trying to have some standards within their own goddamn restaurant.
The customer is not always flippin' right. They are more often wrong than not.

Writing this post, it makes me want to go back. SOMEBODY, LET'S GO EAT PIZZZZZZZZZA ^__^

Messina

241 Victoria Street, Darlinghurst
Monday - Friday, 4.30pm-11.30pm; Friday - Saturday, midday-11.30pm; Sunday, midday-11pm

Okay. Here's what happened:
1/ Frozen cow's milk + sugar + amazing ingredients (usually in semi-whole form) = exciting.
2/ I = looking for a car park in Darlinghurst + decision to turn left because a park is seen RIGHT OUT THE FRONTAL OF EXCITING.
3/ I = temporarily forget everything but the gelato anticipated + start driving down a very busy, very one-way street, the very wrong way + blissfully not realising latter point.
4/ Dude with a parked truck unloading goods of food = starts to wave arms vigorously + and shouting indiscernible things at my carface.
5/ I = "Dude, seriously, wtf you wanging on about?"
6/ The next second = a three-lane stream of speeding cars come towards me.
7/ I = *screal* + pull massive tankbitch of a car over to the left + hunches shoulders over (...yeah, no-one knows why).
8/ Police car happens to be the first car to approach and see me = I x 100000 ("Oh crap. Now I'm gonna get me some fineage").
9/ Police peeps = stops their vehicle + get out + BRING OUT ORANGE CONES AND ARRANGE + halt all oncoming traffic + allow me to do the 43-point turn around it takes my car to do so.
10/ I = accelerates as fast as the polleese will let me down the street and into a terribly convenient spot the next block down + hide red-faced as all that were paused pass me by + claim that I need amazing amounts of gelato to cure the panic which had thus resulted from the ...err, "incident".

Somebunny loves me. No, really. I think that that "incident" proved once and for all, that I was (at least) the third luckiest person in the Inner City that day. That, and I think that I proved that I iz one dedicated Messina fangrrrrl. Risking lives! Saving them! All in a sunny afternoonsome.
This gelato bar is phenomenal. It's presentation serves a very modern and slick take on the fifties-style diner, albeit in tiny form. Lime green seats match the fluorescent green take-away cups, the matte taupe and dirty orange wallpaper climb busily over the walls, and the chrome glistens in an oh-so shiny fashion. It's gelato serves are *choose-your-own-deity* in a cup. A lovely mixture of traditional Italian flavours, that being cassata, tiramisu, hazelnut, cawfee, torrone, pistachio, strawberry, and lemon...bitches...as well as brilliant fusions of dreams nought before dreamt, that is, lime cheesecake, coconut & lychee, and chocolate sorbet. And just the gorram insanely good in terms of ingredients: notably the Tokay fig. If this place was a person, it could take me, there and then. Are the flavours displayed in mounds? Mountains? Half-buried soccer balls? I don't care, you decide. It's freakho beautiful, whatever the hell it's compared to.
If I describe to you any of the flavours my senses have experienced it would probably embarrass you. I'm just going to say that in terms of quality, ingredients used, and combinations available, this place is absolutely incredible. It's probably my second favourite gelato bar in Sydney. That's a Big Title. I hearts this place muchly. Seriously, they are definitely right about one thing: Forza Messina!!!111@@!!
I'm in ur kitchen, eatin' ur frozen goods.

Messina is a place in Italy, a country that seems to pre-occupy us with its wealth of delicious eatables.
Messina is also a small, tucked away, gelateria in Darlinghurst that makes me smile.
Lime cheesecake is a brilliant thing to turn into Gelato. I would never have known that, without having visited Messina. They have a great range of flavours, with old favourites mixed with some truly strange offerings. How can you complain when the most basic of styles are infused with a new freshness, while being simultaneously confronted with strange mixes of flavours.
Their Lemon Sorbet is the best I've ever had. Did I mention that they're really flippin' good at what they do? If you're lucky, you can even watch as the cold, delicious goodness oozes out of the machine. Doesn't look so tough. But somehow, they top Gelatomassi in terms of the quality of the product. And those guys are wizards. Mang.
The service here leaves something to be desired. It's a little cold, a little dull. But if you're a gelato-freak like some people, it's just a joy to be given Ice Cream that both reminds you of the goodness you had as a kid, and of artisans, possibly slaving away for decades to learn the skills they have.

Regardless. I want some. Even if I nearly got killed getting it last time. The desire to come here is so regular that the question of whether we should embark on the trip to Darlinghurst has been shortened to a single word. The amount of places in Sydney that deserve regular patronage are far too dispersed in my mind. But if you're in the area, you would do yourself a disservice, sir, if you didn't stop to enjoy a scoop or nine.
Messina?

Artisan Focacceria

230 Palmer Street, Darlinghurst
Monday to Friday, 7:30am - 3:30pm; Saturdays, 8:30am - 3:00pm

It's strange that, despite my (what I thought was an) avoidance of 'Italian' food in Sydney, we have been predominately reviewing places which specialise in Italian cuisine. This is a problem and I now realise that my dislike for the said cuisine outside my own home is reasonably unfounded. The primary reason I resent having Italian food at restaurants or cafés other than those I trust is the blatant disregard for authenticity. Too much, in this town, is a toasted sandwich deemed a "focaccia", packet spaghetti and melted Kraft cheese termed "fettucine carbonara", and Dominoes seen as a "pizza". Urgh. Many so-called 'cooks' lie and cheat.

So I thank the merry immortals that places like Artisan Focacceria exist. This is what every food house should be aiming to be. No exceptions. I have learnt, say, within the past couple of years, that anything with the word 'artisan' somewhere in their name or slogan (I am looking at you Sonoma, you bewitching bastards) will probably transcend anything you've ever known.
The authenticity part probably comes down to the fact that the owners are actually Italian. This helps! Despite the enticing menu that reaches from floor to ceiling we shall start with the cawfee. This place has apparently been the stepping stone to many great baristas that abound in Sydney. The coffee here is somewhat of the fantastic. Do not deny! A smooth blend coupled with baristas who know what they want from their shots, I can totally deal with having my macchiato here.
Now: the foccacias of artisanery. Are these people actually serious?! Home-made salami, artichoke, shaved parmesan, vine-ripened tomato, provolone, basil mayonnaise, asiago, baby spinach, olives, crumbed chicken breast, prosciutto, and home-preserved eggplant. If any of these ingredients sound good in combination on some fun-lovin' foccacia then you must come here. Note that the fillings can also be chosen to come wrapped in Turkish bread and panini at request. They usually have recommendations for which breadness for what ripieno, and the Panini con Zucca e Ricotta - read: roasted pumpkin, ricotta, figs and walnuts - goes perfectly with the sourdough roll it is paired with. Mmm. Figs. With all this said and done, the Foccacia con Maile is the absolute stand-out for me. Slow roasted shoulder of pork, rocket, lemon and green chilli. Need I say more?! By the amount I told of the rave party in my mouth with each bite of this incredible concoction, a friend of the vegetarian kind who accompanied us even had to have one (maybe even two?!) bite/s to try. I think even she was slightly saddened by her practical ethics long lived by with the taste of nectar so sweet...

I am sure that there is some sort of religion behind this place and I am willing and ready to join.


Edit: Excuse the quality of the photos posted. I think I may have been a little excited about the eating of this goodness and subsequently got a severe bout of 'shivering with anticipation'. You people must understand how hard it is to get decent camera shots for this blag whilst:
a/ not looking like a completely obsessed fool (probably too late with the face);
b/ not totally forgetting that devouring edibles before shots doesn't really work for visuals on a food blog; and,
c/ not passing out from the utter insanity of some foodhouses and the willingness to (often) kill for the comestibles they serve.
Just sayin'.

Some things are hard to take seriously. For instance, a virtuoso kazoo-ist. Or perhaps, the world champion of hop-scotch. Some things are so simple that it seems impossible to take it seriously.

Artisan Focacceria take something very simple, very seriously. A sandwich. You take two pieces of bread, and you hold some stuff inside with said bread, so you can eat it conveniently. How hard could it be? More importantly, how good could it be?
Firstly, the coffee here is excellent. Using the better-than-solid Di Lorenzo, the only brand of coffee that has consistently signified a consistently better-than-average Barista as well as a high-quality blend, Artisan Focacceria make damned good coffee. Scott Callaghan and Jack Hanna are former employees, Barista champions both, as well as Alex Kum, now at Mecca Espresso. One of the few places where you can expect a better coffee.
But the focaccia? It's absurdly good. They use good bread, quality ingredients, and then offer them to you in traditional and creative combinations. My idea of a good sandwich have been altered irreparably by the green chilli and pork shoulder focaccia I tried there, and the other items on the menu have never disappointed. Satisfying, honest and delicious. It seems that in a perfect world, this would be the minimum quality that food would need to meet.
But we don't live in a perfect world. This place is exceptional. And mmm, sandwich times await you. You'll be forced to take it seriously, regardless of your scepticism. It certainly made a believer out of me.

Gelatomassi

262 King Street, Newtown

Apparently: from all hours of the day to all hours of the night

Put the paintbrush down. There is no time for shaving your moustache. This is not the time to feed the hamsters. Come with me now, on a journey through time and space. Come with me now, to the land of wondrous rolling mountains of nutty creaminess, fruity lusciousness...and plains of white platters. Take your serve to a cone. A waffle cone, to be exact!

Gelato is a staple. Just like the Koreans have their rice, the Italians have their pasta and the Russians have their Vodka, I can has my gelato. Having refined the palate for some years, I know a good gelato when I taste one. Gelatomassi produces flavours that have just the right consistency and textures, they use actual ingredients so the colours are gorgeously natural, and they just taste good!

It was this particular night that there were, with chance, four of us to spare. What a perfect number for a plate of eight flavours! ...despite this convenience, we all know that one of us could quite easily consume it by their lonesome. Say no more... What I will expand on, though, are the flavours. After some deliberation (come on! 'tis to be expected with the amount of choices!) it was decided that the line of eight would consist of the following: Apple, deliciously tart; Ferrero Rocher chocolate, smooth and dark; panna cotta, a light complimentary flavour that always pleases; coconut, rich and velvety; apple crumble, creamed-down tang with crunchiness; strawberry and cream, previously untried but proved to delight with its yoghurty background; pistachio, a heavy competitor in many of this city's (and other's too!) top gelaterias (NB: among other things, this and hazelnut are the base flavours in my assessment criteria...it's complicated!); and, I think, nougat! SUPERTASTERNAUT. Not only does this let you try many flavours at once, it also allows for combination of flavours - who woulda thunk it!? Par exemple: did you know that apple and coconut make for some refreshing fun? Similarly, a strawberry and cream covered apple crumble bite can send squeals of delight into a grown man's oesophagus? Try it. Nevertheless, the gelato here is invariably sweet without being sickly, tasty whilst still retaining the extraordinary naturalness of each of it's individual flavours, and just all 'round super. C'est super cool, even!
Apart from such authenticity in the area of munchity yum, the service here is the typical friendliness of Italians. The owner is an absolute character, maybe one of an acquired taste in his manner of serving, but, at the heart, a guy who genuinely wants his product to be adored and consumed with appreciation; his employees are usually equally as cheerful to deal with aswell, which is nice. Welcoming to the utmost, whether you come for a quick morning fix before classes (ah, these are the days), afternoon delights, or bring people en masse at midnight post-gig for a platter to share, I always leave in a daze of deliciousness.

Do yourself a massive flavour (I'm so sorry about that...maybe I should go to sundae school for being so cone-headed) and just go there. Right now! Please.

Disclaimer: Gelato is an addictive substance. It gives users somewhat of a high, but intervention is not ever recommended for those who have already sold their soul for the sweet, sweet creamin... Do not ever deny them what they need most. There is no way out for these people once the good stuff has passed their lips. Consult your local gelateria for more information.

Sometimes, we visit places and we marvel at how delicious everything is. Meat is garnished with sauces, ordinary vegetables become exotic salads and we are presented with stunning examples of what can be achieved with roasted coffee beans, milk and a tremendous amount of elbow grease. However, at it's core we understand how these feats are achieved. You cook it... right. You combine it... right. Or something.

However if you present me with Apple Crumble flavoured gelato, you better watch your motherflippin' backs because a witch hunt is about to begin.

Now, I consider myself a rational man. I don't believe in conspiracies, I'm not particularly superstitious, and the only faith I have is in rational thought. I don't believe that a shadowy group can run the world if high-ranking members of government can't get their toes sucked by a hooker without it leaking to the news the next morning. I trust firmly in logic, evidence and intellectual rigour.

So when I say to you that I am certain that the Gelatomassi is run by Wizards who are practising their mystical alchemy and transmutation to create gelato, know that I employ no rhetoric, nor exaggeration of the mystical sect that I am reporting.

EVIDENCE:

• If the aforementioned Apple Crumble gelato isn't crazy enough to blow your mind, how about flavours like Panna Cotta and Date-Pudding?
• The white aprons they wear could perhaps actually be capes worn on the front, capes that could perhaps befit WIZARDS?!
• They have a nice range of flavours, that are obviously worked on with dilligence. Each flavour has a suprisingly nice depth which means that I continually want to come back and have more. The point that I'm making here is that it's magically delicious. and bewitching.
  
• The service here is excellent. Although of the loud and in your face variety, it gives a character to the place that is difficult to capture. Could be hex-related, perhaps.
• Gelatomassi kinda sounds like Illuminati.

So there's the verdict. If you're interested in delicious cold things that become liquid when you apply heat to them, gelatomassi is untopped for me in the city. Bar Italia has a strong case, as does the gelateria in Darlinghurst, but come on.

Wizards mang.

Table for 20

182 Campbell St, Surry Hills
Legs under the table at 8pm: $40 Wednesday & Thursday; $50 Friday; bookings available for Saturday.

Tagline: "There are 193 normal restaurants in Surry Hills. This is not one of them."

With such an wonderfully unique idea, I was drawn to the prospect of the experience more so - for a first - than I desired my curiosity regarding the food to be sated.

As inspired as was the concept, so too was the way the chef/host/pioneer Michael approached the evening. Having spoken to him twice before on the hellophone regarding times and the requirements of vegetarian friends that were to accompany us, he seemed a sweet and approachable guy - one who always seems to terribly pleased to see you and has that familiarity about him, the reasons for which can never quite be pinned down.
Not previously aware of his Mediterranean origins, though, I was not all surprised when I found out. His food was obviously influenced by the welcoming and bold meals the Italians are renowned for. Simple and full flavours with a brush or sprig of something to twitter about the senses and wonder what herb or vegetable or oil is acting as the special ingredient within.

As we made our way hesitantly into the discreet building armed with bottles red wine as requested, noting the rather nice modern décor (well, I know I was), we were greeted with two long set tables. Clearly this was a little more professional than I had previously anticipated, not just a house opened by some friendly! We were taken straight up the back to a bar area where an interesting selection of people mingled. Soft, ambient music played and before we knew it we had a glass of our wine in hand and were nibbling on 'Olive Tiepida', small warmed Italian-style olives in a chilli and garlic olive oil with chunks of delightfully hard and pungent parmigiano. As the place filled somewhat up we were instructed to take our seats and were duly introduced to the two musicians sitting in a corner. We were to be serenaded!...or something. What delights.
The actual courses were more than satisfactory. Entrée was 'pasta casareccio sapia alla trifila', basically home-made pasta with mushrooms in black truffle oil. A tasty dish which did more than satisfy an empty stomach. It must be noted that I am somewhat suspicious of restaurants who "stock" their diners with filling foods like pasta at the beginning, as it often denotes a decline in quality for the rest of the meal, however this thought was put out of mind once I received the following. The main, 'filetti di monkfish' was gorgeous. Brought out on a huge platter and on 'un cetto' of delicious rice, it was positively melt-in-the-mouth so. The "curves of potato" or 'contorni di patate' were stunning. Easily a stand-out, these were roasted to near-perfection. And by perfect I mean my mother's - they are (usually) untouchable. Other sides included the wonderfully succulent 'zucchine al aceto' (zucchini cooked in wine vinegar) and the crisp delights of 'une insalatina di spinacci, pepe e noce'. That's right: a salad of baby spinach leaves, pear, and crushed walnut dressing - always a fresh combination to accompany most meals...or so I find. After having our adequate fill of savoury edibles we were given a rest and a chance to sit back and enjoy the atmosphere. And then came the 'torta alla crema di cioccolata e noce braziliane', which was of the yum! 'E scropino'! ...I almost forgot the scropino! This is a lovely way to finish off a meal - the Italians love it - and basically consists of lemon vodka and a lemon liqueur, which is one of the most refreshing customs I do so enjoy! Vive la italia!

All in all I found it to be a great experience. The food was gratifying and I really must applaud the excellent job done in churning out both a fresh and hearty meal on such a large scale. Catered food is usually the absolute pits, but it was the combination of the dishes Michael had chosen to serve (and thus, in a way, the cuisine) and the obvious attention to ensuring everybody's satisfaction. The provisions for the vegetarians in our party also must be noted. For the entrée they were served with a beautiful tower of bocconcini and tomatoes drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar - I secretly coveted this. Their main consisted of a larger portion of the pasta we had for our entrée - it appeared that all were happy!

Oh also, the lights seemed to be made out of scrunched trees. How unique!

We have to start off by making one thing clear. Table for 20 is a lie.
Table for 20 is actually, quite deviously, two tables of 20. After trekking through Surry Hills with a few bottles of wine from the Ultimo Wine Centre (future post? ...perhaps) we found our way to the beautiful restaurant that isn't a restaurant known as Table for 20.

Considering the way that it's marketed, the interior is incredibly slick. You are greeted with a large open room with the two aforementioned tables, and a set of metal stairs that lead up to a bar where wine can be stashed and cheese and olives consumed. While we chatted and enjoyed some wine, it was obvious that the owner/chef/dude was running the place on charisma alone, seemingly charming women with a smile. What they see in a confident, charming man who can cook well is beyond me.

Slowly, we made our way to the tables and was pleasantly surprised by two dudes playing music for us in the corner, with some pretty covers of old favourites. The sound of chatter rose in response, and created a pleasant atmosphere of laughter, conversation and excitement. We were duly welcomed shortly thereafter, and the mood in the air was very much one of general joviality and fun.

As good as the food was, the ability of the setting to invoke a good time for all was impressive. The food, with black truffle pasta to start, some monkfish with walnut and pear salad and some crazy awesome roast potatoes, and finishing with a delicious sorbet and chocolate delicious, was certainly impressive. It was a good solid meal, and exactly what the setting called for, and although it wasn't a culinary adventure by any stretch of the imagination, it wasn't necessary. The setting and the manner of the service made me want to kick back and remember how awesome my friends were, and just take a moment to have a decent conversation and see how things are with them. The fact that I got to eat some plump-ass fish is only a bonus.

Table for 20 is a delicious, delightful lie.