Modo Mio | ||
161 W. Girard Avenue (at N. Hancock) The dining room of this Cucina Italia has, on its left, a huge framed mirror which deftly replicates the tantalizing images of crusty, darkly hued breads being sliced on a long adjacent antique table just below it, for endless basketed distribution. The remaining crumbs are the same color as the light wooden-planked flooring throughout. They (both the crumbs and the floor) tremble among raucous patrons’ laughter, a swiftly swirling wait-staff and the scraping of wooden chair legs. Some noise is modestly muffled by high ceilings, red-leatherette seat-backs and a huge rutilant couch, whose cushions are thick and absorbent. A fuchsia-colored guard rail surrounds the boisterous room and seems to protect the fortunate forty (or so) patrons from outside disturbances. If you’re a Thorstein Veblen fan of conspicuous consumption, you’re at the wrong economist’s party. This is hearty class-free fare, eaten with sidekicks of brought-from-home bottles of wine, and paid for in cash. It’s almost as if lira might be expected in lieu of dollars. Wealth is not a divider here; as the most completely fulfilling meal can be had, by everyone, for prix fixe $30. It’s this eatery’s simple “flat tax” on generous portions, and a wonderful warison to curtail rising restaurant costs. Economically speaking, it’s a Laffer. “Menu Turista” allows a participant to choose four menu selections, one from each group: Antipasti, Pasta, Secondo and Dolce. But you’ll begin with gratuitous chunks of mealy Umbrian breads, a chef’s free taste of a mouthful of rolled meats dazzled by nearby clumps of ricotta cheese, in a tureen of olive oil, while you wait to order. Then look for these favorites.
Pasta: “Gnocchi” must be ordered here. Modo Mio’s are potato dumplings in a sumptuously soulful porcini cream that will take your tongue and wrestle it into submission. Earthy and filling to a fault; you begin to wonder how you’ll be able to complete the four-course meal.
Dolce: If I were a betting man, I’d wager that you’ll be bloated with blessings at this point. Take home rice pudding, immensely chocolate with raisins and orange zest; or ladyfingers in light and foaming zabaglione, infused with berries and pomegranate juice; and never lose sight of the perfectly creamy panna cotta custard. Cash in. FELIX QUI NIHIL DEBET | ||
Copyright 2007 Richard Max Bockol, Esq. | Back |