vinobiondo

I was in Rome last August and just about everything was closed for vacation. Two places that were open and delicious were perennial eGullet favorite 'Gusto and Michelin 1-star Il Convivio. Both were very good. However, neither is particularly "Italian" and Convivio is quite expensive, but is quite a professional, "destination dining"-type restaurant. 'Gusto has a nice, modern vibe to it, with an attached wine bar and a very reasonably priced wine list. I tried to get in darn near everywhere with a decent rating in either Gambero Rosso or Michelin, and it seemed like the whole rest of the city was closed, so good luck!

I'll agree that Don Alfonso does feel just a little bit tired. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely LOVED this place -- my hypothesis is that the very tired "Italian Grandmother" decor of the dining room unfairly "rubs off" onto the food. Compare the boring bordering on ugly decor... with the gorgeous food...

That is precisely the intended scale, and there is no grade inflation involved here -- those 90-point meals were damn good.

Well, the Eiffel Tower view + pretty decent service gets them most of the way to 50. But the food is certainly nothing better than 9 out of 50. Re: Ambroisie, trust me, I'm dying to go. I just wasn't sure that it was the right atmosphere for Melissa, who is a bit of a rookie at fancy food (and, thus, maybe not able to yet appreciate the alleged refined subtlety of L'Ambroisie). Now that I know she is a trooper, I expect that we will be back to Paris for meals at Arpege, L'Ambroisie and a repeat of Le Grand Vefour sometime soon. I'm actually dying to try the almost-all-veg tasting menu at Arpege, but less thrilled about 300+ Euros a head for food alone). Nevertheless, I will pony up to try it.

JULES VERNE We had arrived from the US the day before, stopped in for a memorable late lunch at Bofinger, walked by and peered in L'Ambroisie, and then returned to the surprisingly great Hotel du Louvre and crashed around 6:00 p.m. We woke up around 4:00 a.m., and took a marvelous Sunday 5:30 a.m. walk through the grounds of the Louvre and the Tuileries. I highly recommend this walk at 5:30 on a Sunday. There is absolutely no one there. We wandered up to Les Invalides, and after a breathtaking tour of Les Invalides, it was not a long walk to the Eiffel Tower and lunch at Jules Verne, the Michelin-starred restaurant on the second observation deck. The walk up the Parc du Champ de Mars is inspiring, and the Tower was just as imposing as I remembered it from when I was 11. We arrived just as Jules Verne was opening and took the first private-elevator trip of the day up to the restaurant. The room was very pretty in a sort of austere, Scandanavian-type way. The kir royale for an apertif was delicious, the view was breathtaking, and the tasting menu (the "Menu of Discovery") looked appealing. Even our neighbors at the next table -- bizarrely enough, the same German couple who had sat next to us at Bofinger the previous day -- were friendly. A promising start indeed. At this point, Jules' balloon crashed and its submarine imploded. At Jules Verne, they know how to make a kir royale and petit four or two. Everything in between was bad, and I "discovered" this the hard way. I will say this for Jules Verne -- if you have no functioning teeth, this might not be a bad option, as there was no texture or crunch to anything on this menu du mush. The amuse bouche was basically sour cream and onion dip served with a spoon. Nauseatingly rich and weird by itself. It would not be last time during this meal that I found myself wanting potato chips. The starter was a foie gras torchon with a red fruit compote of some sort. The greyish foie gras was nothing short of bad (have I ever said “foie gras” and “bad” in the same sentence before?). The bizarre, nutty quasi-brioche-like bread was worse. Next up was the "Terrine of Dublin Bay Prawns with Cucumber Gelee." Turns out the prawns were served raw and chopped (wouldn't be my first choice, but whatever). We renamed this dish "Salty Slime." It was basically a pink-and-green, fishy, saline gelatinous ooze. Totally revolting. The taste was bad, but the texture was far worse. The day before we left for France, Melissa and I had lunch at my 91-year-old grandfather's house in Escondido. He cooked, and it was delicious. At this point in our Jules Verne meal, Melissa asked me, "If this place has one Michelin star, how many stars does your grandfather have?" His splendid, made-up-on-the-spot, oven-baked chicken (which involved, among other things, Bisquik and gravy powder) vastly outperformed J.V.'s Poulet de Bresse with Morels, which was our next course. I will spare you the gory details of the remaining courses, except for one. The true nadir was the sorbet in the middle of the meal. There was very little refreshment or palate cleansing to be had with the avocado sorbet. That's correct -- avocado sorbet. They also took the liberty of adding a drizzle of unspecified medium-brown sauce on top. Quite a visual. From Melissa: "Wow -- first sour cream dip, and now frozen guacamole -- when will they bring me some chips?" And why we needed sneeze-inducing "Black Pepper Creme Brulee" for dessert is beyond me. I honestly cannot think of any meal I've ever eaten in a restaurant that was so terrible on an absolute quality scale. Add in the fact that it cost more than lunch at the French Laundry, and I am sure Jules Verne will have a long reign on top of the "Worst Meals I Have Ever Eaten" List. It was a cute idea -- a Michelin-starred lunch on the Eiffel Tower on the first day in Paris with my comparatively new (5 months) girlfriend. Do not make this same mistake under any circumstances. Shellshocked by both the crappy food and the stunning bill, we wandered off to the Arc de Triomphe, stopped for a beer, trudged down the Champs-Elysees in the rain past three-starred Ledoyen (which is so, so beautiful from the outside and, alas, about the same price as Jules Verne for lunch) and back to the hotel. Our vastly-superior-to-Jules-Verne but otherwise unremarkable dinner at a neighborhood place was less than one-third the cost of lunch. How I wish I had booked at Ledoyen. I'm confident that Katie Holmes said "yes" only so she could get out of this culinary embarrassment to a fantastic setting -- after all, she could have had an even better (and reasonably priced) view for 10 Euros up top. JULES VERNE FINAL GRADE: 59 (F)

Our first stop from this list was Dome du Marais. I was very disappointed. My starter (foie gras) and her main course (the scallop starter as a plat) were both quite poor.

I ate the "Menu of Discovery" at Jules Verne on Sunday and I can say without qualification that it was the single worst restaurant meal I've ever had. It was also more than 350 Euros for lunch for two with a bottle of simple Pernand-Vergelesses. The food was so bad that thinking about it makes me gag. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but it was truly shocking. I "discovered" that this is a very poor restaurant - avoid it like the plague.

Let me enthusiastically second the suggestions of both Botafumeiro and Joan Gatell. I had very good experiences at both. You cannot go wrong with a mixed steamed seafood platter at Botafumeiro. Gatell was more "prepared" dishes

Joan Gatell in Cambrils is really great, and (in my experience) not so formal that kids couldn't come (especially on the terrace). It has 2 Sols from Guia Campsa, which is no easy thing to achieve. Fantastic seafood.

Il Convivio is very good, but it is very internationally styled and "Michelin"-type. It probably is not typically Italian enough to give you what you want. The highly-recommended 'Gusto is a totally different concept but suffers from the same problem -- not very Italian. I haven't eaten at Le Sans Souci, but I sense that it is basically a French restaurant in Rome. Again, not what you are looking for. I think you'll like La Rosetta or (it's prime competitor) Quinzi e Gabrelli better, but know that these are both first and foremost seafood restaurants. -A

To clarify, I'd also like to be "talked out" of any of these places that are particularly inappropriate. Thanks for the help, Andy

I cannot help think that the food cannot have been THAT bad if you had no problems eating "quite a lot" . ← True enough ... it wasn't "THAT bad" at all -- just not wonderful. I'm rooting for the place, and I'll go back if I get a chance, but I overpaid by a factor of three!

Thank you very much for you kind words. I'll try to contribute around here (especially in defending Il Desco, Il Mulinazzo and everything within a 50-mile radius of Alba, Piemonte, Italy).

Hello all-- I'm fairly new to the site, and most of what I can contribute (and have contributed) involves Italy, Los Angeles and Chicago. So I'm very new to this forum... I am a pretty serious foodie headed to Paris with my girlfriend for 10 days starting next Friday. This will involve dining at a handful of major temples of gastronomy, including Guy Savoy, Pre Catalan, Le Meurice and Le Grand Vefour. I promise full reports on all four, as well as Can Fabes, Cinq Sentits, Abac, Ca L'Isidre in Barcelona and most of the better places in Mallorca. But I digress. The Paris and Barcelona stars were picked in part because of the question I am about to ask (i.e. this is why we're not going to Pierre Gagnaire...) Our 10 days in Paris will also include a number of less ornate and orchestrated meals. Among the up-to-16 lunches and dinners not mentioned above, I am hoping to visit 3-4 bistrots et bistrots modernes that have an appropriate combination of (1) quality, (2) typicity, and, perhaps most importantly, (3) agreeability with my girlfriend's standard American palate/unadventurousness. To wit, she does not eat (1) offal of any kind except for limited amount of foie gras if included in other dishes, (2) raw fish of any kind (a real problem!), (3) non-chicken-or-turkey fowl (except for limited amounts of duck breast/confit if I REALLY encourage her), and (4) probably rabbit (just guessing). In her defense, she will enthusiastically dig in for red meat of virtually any kind, charcuterie, cream sauces, stinky cheeses, heavy roasts, lamb shanks, other heavy preparations. It's not the heavyness of the food that will be a problem. She'll probably even eat suckling pig if I don't tell her what it is. And, luckily, she enjoys all kinds of seafood (especially crab), right down to sardines and anchovies, but not raw oysters. My point is that there is no f'in way she will eat pieds de cochon, boudin noir, rognons de veau, escargots, tete de ANYTHING, etc. -- even beef cheeks or oxtail will have to be described as merely "beef" until after the meal. I have no interest in unnecessarily challenging her, but I do have an interest in not making the bistrot rearrange its menu around us or in making her suffer. For example, I was very interested in going to Au C'Amelot, until I learned that dessert is the only "choice" on the menu. If it's going to be foie gras/huitres/rognons de veau that night, I'm in trouble. I guess what I'm saying is that some level of choice really matters. She'll love the rouget if offered... I'm particularly interested in Le Regalade L'Os a Moelle Chez Catherine La Fontaine de Mars Chez Dumonet Ambassade d'Auvergne Le Dome du Marais Le Coude Fou L'Entredgeu Mon Vieil Ami L'Epi Dupin Au Bon Accueil Chez l'Ami Jean D'Chez Eux Cafe Constant Chez Jean Chez Michel Le Repaire de Cartouche Au Trou Gascon (ok, I doubt it will work) L'Ourcine De Lagarde But, honestly, I haven't been to Paris since I was 13, which was nearly 20 years ago, so I'm mostly just asking for assistance. Also, if there's a Michelin 1-star that is open for Monday dinner that she'd enjoy, I'd love to hear about it. I think Violon d'Ingres (my first choice) is closed. Gerard Besson is nearby and open -- any good? We can take the Metro anywhere, so geography doesn't matter too much, but we are staying at the Hotel du Louvre (1er) and Hotel Brittanique (border of 1er and 4e) and walking or a short Metro ride is a nice thing. While we're at it, any comments on those two hotels are welcome... Thanks! Edited to change "close" to "nearby" in case of confusion

We can certainly agree on one thing -- the wine list is VERY impressive and very fairly priced (indeed, for wine only, it's better than DA1890 and QP). My 1996 Paolo Scavino Barolo Cannubi was 70 or 80 Euros, as I recall. Despite not really enjoying the food, I did feel free to eat quite a lot (!), and they kept bringing me food. Then I got a shockingly precise and complete itemized receipt for every single morsel I'd put in my mouth. I'd give it another shot, mostly because Gennaro was a really nice guy, but next time I will be very careful not to assume that anything I am offered is in any way "on the house."

Consider me the first. Il Desco isn't El Bulli, French Laundry, Charlie Trotter's, Zuberoa, or (in my book) Mulinazzo, but it blows the doors of just about every other meal I've eaten in Italy or elsewhere. I wasn't there during Vinitaly, which probably helped, but I should concede that it has been a while (I went back to my hotel room that night to check on the Bush/Gore election results, which made for quite a long night). I plan to return this fall and report fully!

I ate at Quattro Passi, Torre del Saracino and Don Alfonso on three consecutive nights last summer. Among them, Don Alfonso was in a class by itself and, very surprisingly to me, the cheapest. Quattro Passi was easily second, but it was most remarkable for the decor and service. Sadly, I was dining alone, for their beautiful, semi-enclosed patio would be a fantastic place to take a not-particularly-epicurean date, and their food, while delicious and beautifully presented, wouldn't challenge a conservative eater and wasn't very imaginative. My lingering memories of Saracino consist of (1) a long (20 minutes) and perhaps too frank discussion with the very receptive and friendly Chef Esposito about how terribly disappointing the meal was -- it is, after all, important to cook risotto past teeth-cracking crunchiness and not cook shrimp to rubber-band-level overdoneness, (2) the truly shocking bill (285 Euros for a very unimpressive meal for ONE PERSON with modest wine and virtually no extras) and (3) a very pedestrian patio setting (I was outside). Also in the area is Il San Pietro, in the hotel of the same name. This is a very, very good restaurant, surely the second-best meal I had in greater Amalfi. It is pricey (although my bottle of Galatrona was very fairly priced), but excellent, with a completely breathtaking view. In general, I think this hotel is far superior to Le Sirenuse, with the one drawback being that it is about a mile down the coast out of town. ← In re-reading that, I think I was a little bit hard on Quattro Passi -- it's a fine restaurant, well deserving of it's Michelin star and two forks from GR, and I drove off plenty satisfied. It just isn't anywhere near Don Alfonso quality, except that it's a much, much more appealing setting (I'm convinced that Don Alfonso lost it's third star simply for the horrendous, retirement-home decor).

I ate at Quattro Passi, Torre del Saracino and Don Alfonso on three consecutive nights last summer. Among them, Don Alfonso was in a class by itself and, very surprisingly to me, the cheapest. Quattro Passi was easily second, but it was most remarkable for the decor and service. Sadly, I was dining alone, for their beautiful, semi-enclosed patio would be a fantastic place to take a not-particularly-epicurean date, and their food, while delicious and beautifully presented, wouldn't challenge a conservative eater and wasn't very imaginative. My lingering memories of Saracino consist of (1) a long (20 minutes) and perhaps too frank discussion with the very receptive and friendly Chef Esposito about how terribly disappointing the meal was -- it is, after all, important to cook risotto past teeth-cracking crunchiness and not cook shrimp to rubber-band-level overdoneness, (2) the truly shocking bill (285 Euros for a very unimpressive meal for ONE PERSON with modest wine and virtually no extras) and (3) a very pedestrian patio setting (I was outside). Also in the area is Il San Pietro, in the hotel of the same name. This is a very, very good restaurant, surely the second-best meal I had in greater Amalfi. It is pricey (although my bottle of Galatrona was very fairly priced), but excellent, with a completely breathtaking view. In general, I think this hotel is far superior to Le Sirenuse, with the one drawback being that it is about a mile down the coast out of town.

I realize this is a hopelessly out-of-date reply (but perhaps useful in the future), but I'd like to second the recommendation of Al Tuguri. Over six days in July 2004, I ate absolutely everywhere recommended to me by anyone that was (or has been) anywhere near Alghero, and Al Tuguri was easily the best, especially for seafood. The only other place that was worth recommending was Andreini (better decor, better service, much more of a "scene," but weaker food). Just so we're clear, neither of these places is anywhere near Tre Forchette. In my experience, Sardinian food is conspicuously bad by Italian standards.

Not to be pedantic, but my 2004 Gambero Rosso gives Mulinazzo an 86 (tops in Sicily) and Duomo di Ragusa an 83 (3rd in Sicily, also behind Casa Grugno at 84). Anyway, thanks for your kind words, and I hope to be able to add something to this forum going forward. I have a lot of fond memories, but I won't be back to Italy until the fall (I think Le Calandre is on the menu, as well as maiden voyages to Flipot, Guido, Combal.O and returns to the brilliant Il Desco and Trattoria della Posta and the vastly underappreciated (at least it was in 2000) Giardino da Felicin. After all, there is absolutely nothing like Barolo country in the fall. The food and the scenery might be nearly as good in San Sebastian, but not the wine.

This is my first post to eGullet. To be honest, criticism of Mulinazzo was what got me to pay the $50 to get to write on the site. Many of you know more about food than I do, but I have been around -- once to El Bulli (great), once to Fat Duck (not so much, but couldn't get the tasting menu), twice to French Laundry (wonderful both times), Berasategui (atrocious), Zuberoa (brilliant), Charlie Trotter's (brilliant), Tru, Arun's, Ambria (three times -- very underrated), Don Alfonso 1890 (splendid), Torre del Saraceno (surely the most overrated restaurant in Italy), Il Desco (perhaps the most underrated restaurant in Italy, except perhaps Trattoria della Posta), Fleur de Lys (worst meal I've ever eaten), Le Cordeillan Bages (really good), to name a few off the top of my head, not to anything in my home city, LA. In two weeks, I'm off on a 23-day tour that will include, at a minimum, Le Grand Vefour, Guy Savoy, Le Meurice, Pre Catalan, Can Fabes, Cinc Sentits, Abac, Ca L'Isidre, and all the best that Mallorca has to offer (assuming my girlfriend is planning well...) OK, so I'm name-dropping. I'm only doing it to make a point. I can say with little reservation that Mulinazzo was the single best meal I've ever eaten. As will be explained below, I might have caught them on a particularly good night, but I don't think so. This is a marvelous place, and if it is closing, I'll shed a tear. My after-dinner email (written last July) is attached. ++++ Greetings, all -- For three reasons, it is with some trepidation that I sit down to write this very long missive. First, I am an extroverted, heart-on-his-sleeve, enthusiastic guy. At times past, I've been somewhat prone to exaggeration and predisposed to the unnecessary ranking of things, and I want to be careful neither to overstate nor unnecessarily to rank my experience of the other night. Second, I am limited by words and this feels like a weighty limitation right now. There was a completeness that cannot fully be conveyed except in the experiencing, and attempting to do so will undoubtedly cheapen it. Finally, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle (from quantum mechanics) states that the act of observing an object changes the very nature of the object, and I feel that this is queerly applicable here. I fear the experience alone has changed the nature of the thing that was experienced (as, hopefully, I will bring you to understand), and my relating the experience to all of you changes it all the more. The discovery and the novelty was a big part of it, and, by telling you about it, I'm both preventing you from discovering it yourself and also taking all of the novelty out of it. It is as if I am telling you about the ending of a great movie before you've seen it. You now won't possibly be able to enjoy it as much as I did -- precisely because I am telling you about it. And, on the off chance any of you ever try to replicate the experience, your expectations will be so inflated that it will be impossible not to be disappointed. For that matter, if I were to try to replicate the experience, it would be impossible for me not to be disappointed. This is why I haven't already tried. Maybe it would be better for me simply to say "Go do this." But that wouldn't be enough, and even my effusiveness is unlikely to lead any of you to make the opportunity for yourself. And so I write... On Thursday night, I ate dinner at Il Mulinazzo in Villafrati, Sicily. It was the best meal I have ever eaten. It did not have the circus atmosphere of El Bulli, the seamless seriousness of Charlie Trotter's, or the whimsical opulence of The French Laundry, and the cost of the meal was well under half of what one would pay at any of those places. There were no truffles, no foie gras, and only trace amounts of caviar. There wasn't even any meat, save a garnish of bacon on the evening's least remarkable dish. That said, the meal had plenty of flourishes. I'm a discerning critic, and there's no way a simple, rustic meal would get me waxing this rhapsodic. At most 20% of the food was anything that I could begin to approximate in my own kitchen, and I fancy myself a very good cook. It does not have two Michelin stars (the only two in Sicily) for nothing. The presentation of the food was breathtaking, so much so that I took pictures of every course except the amuses and the petit fours. That said, it had a restraint, an elegance, an authenticity and a humility that would be impossible to translate to New York, London or Paris, and certainly not to showy Los Angeles. And if it were any of those places, it couldn't have been the best ever. In researching my trip to Sicily, it became clear that Mulinazzo is the consensus gold standard among its restaurants. It is by far the highest-rated restaurant in Sicily by both Michelin and Gambero Rosso. And so, about a month ago, I made my reservation. Villafrati is about 20 miles from my hotel, and I assumed that a somewhat expensive cab ride would be involved. When I got here, I was told that we were talking about something on the order of 100 Euros ($125). Ouch. So I looked into renting a car. This wasn't going to result in much of a savings, so I bit the bullet, did a little hustling (in a pale attempt to be Sicilian about it), and got the price down to 90 Euros. Hardly a victory. The winning bidder, Roberto Napoli, arrived to pick me up at 8:00. He's a conventionally handsome 31-year-old guy, who had been effusive during my overpriced trip earlier in the day but seemed a little miffed that I negotiated him out of the extra 10 Euros this time. Fortunately, I got him to lighten up fairly quickly (that is, until I started asking him questions about the mafia). As we drove down Via Francesco Crispi (who, incidentally, is my friend Ann's great-great-grandfather), we talked about Roberto's family -- a wife, Marchesa, whom he has known since they were three and dated since they were 15, and three children: Alessandra (5) and twins Domenico and Antonio (4). Pictures were brought out, stories were told. Please keep in mind that Roberto doesn't speak English any better than I speak Italian. My hotel is in north Palermo, and the restaurant is southeast of town, and it was 20 minutes before we were close to getting through town (Palermo has the worst traffic of any city I've ever visited, but I suspect Athens may break that record in about two weeks). Truth be told, Palermo is a seedy town. Like any big city, I suppose it has its nice parts (for example, my hotel is spectacular), but those are overwhelmed by the urban blight of the less nice parts. Among European cities I have visited, only in Turin have I seen urban poverty of similar intensity, and that was on a much smaller scale. I had not yet been through southeast Palermo, and it is the most depressed part of the city. South Chicago and Detroit have nothing on southeast Palermo, except maybe the element of racial segregation. There are massive apartment blocks that look like a cross between Cabrini Green and the Soviet-era apartment blocks I saw in Moscow. There are dozens of buildings that appear to have been bombed in World War II and never repaired. There are a disturbing number of half-completed buildings that are no longer under construction, with people living in the completed portions. Palermo sits between the northern coast and quite a number of hills, and as we pulled onto the highway south toward Agrigento and up into the hills, the urban blight gave way to rural blight, which at least had the virtue of being more pastoral. By now it was golden hour, and the sun reflected off the the beautiful hillsides, radiating green-gold, broken up by the occasional dilapidated barn or house. It reminded me of driving from Roses up the coast to El Bulli -- same time of day, same radiating hills, anticipating a fine meal (ok, to be honest, not as much anticipation here as with El Bulli...), not knowing what awaits me. After 10 or 15 minutes drive through the hills, Roberto slows down and says, "Here Mulinazzo," pointing out the right side of the cab. I didn't even know that we were in the proper town (and I'd been riding in the front seat), let alone at the restaurant. There had been no signs for either. Glad I didn't rent the car... As we pull into the parking lot, I notice that there is in fact one faded sign, which looks as if painted in 1977. To be fair, I can clearly see the word "Mulinazzo" but have to squint to make out "Ristorante." The low-slung exterior of the building is totally unassuming. I walk in. The interior room is classily understated -- surely the most tasteful room of any kind I have seen in Sicily, with dark wood floors, oriental rugs, sprays of fresh flowers, wood-framed oil paintings and gold curtains. On the tables sit tall, elliptical vases each containing three long-stemmed pink roses resting in about 1/2 inch of water. I am greeted at the door by a blonde, Slavic-looking woman in her mid-late 40's. She is tan and attractive in a severe, classical way. Although it is 8:45, I am the second arrival of the night (within a half-hour, the restaurant is 2/3 full -- 9:00 is the dominant reservation time here in Sicily). They know I am coming and give the impression they are expecting me but seem totally ambushed by my attempts to speak English. Seeing the light blonde hair, they trot out their best German. Apparently, "Parlo l'inglese?" has fallen on deaf ears. Only when I say, "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" do they take remedial measures and summon their lone English speaker. Much later, I learn that her name is Deborah. I would guess that she is about 23 or 24, and absolutely beautiful in a very Sicilian way -- olive-skinned, tall and lean with big, Moorish/Arabic but still very feminine features. The wine steward is perhaps the second blonde Sicilian I have seen since I have been here. He's maybe 26, and his English doesn't extend even to "Hello" -- he's like a deaf-mute unless I'm trying to speak Italian, to which he, naturally, responds in brisk, unintelligible (to me) Italian. There is a menu written in nearly flawless English. Along with the a la carte choices, it includes two tasting menus: the Menu "Fantasia" (60 Euros) and the Menu "Tradizionale" (55 Euros). The "Fantastia" menu has some El Bulli-like affectations -- foams and the like. The "Tradizionale" menu seems fairly straight ahead. Since there is no out-Ferraning Ferran (and that's certainly not why I came here), this is an easy choice. I go for "Tradizionale." The wine list is downright pornographic -- unquestionably the best Italian wine list I have ever seen. I have been trying to stick to Sicilian wines while in Sicily, but with those there is a qualitative ceiling that one hits pretty fast. This list has 8-10 vintages each of Sassicaia and Tignanello, numerous Gaja Barbarescos, Vigna L'Apperitas, Redigaffis, high-end Brunellos, etc. The Italian section alone is 30 pages single-spaced, all priced to move, irrespective of the feeble dollar. You get the idea. So I decide to geographically compromise and order the most famous wine from south of Rome, Montevetrano from Campania, of which they have about seven different vintages. I go with 1997. Even with the currency situation, it's no more than what I would pay at U.S. retail, but nonetheless comparatively more expensive than some of the other gems on the list. They bring it out, and I nearly send it back. It has a strange funk to it at first and tastes prematurely old. I ask the sommelier (or, more precisely, ask Deborah to ask the sommelier) to try it -- not because I was sure it was bad, but because I was sure that it was not as expected. She reports back that he thinks it is "correct for its age," seeming to imply that this wine doesn't really keep. Who knew? Anyway, within 10 minutes, the funk blows off and the wine is great, tasting like a mid-80's second-growth Bordeaux -- certainly old beyond its years, but as I write this, I realize that's an absurd criticism for meofallpeople to levy. After all, in a way I'm sort of old for a 1972. OK, OK -- the food. As I see it, there are only two types of eaters who might not be impressed by this meal: (1) haters of seafood and (2) haters of mint, as they do use a lot of it. Along with the obligatory glass of Prosecco, they bring me three amuses bouches. The first is two tiny slices of eggplant with ricotta and mint oil. They look like little tacos, with eggplant shells and green sauce covering white filling. They are indeed very minty, light and delicious, with great texture. Amusing...and that's the point, right? Next is, as Deborah describes it, "Zee, uh, bayuhbee feeshuh." These are (I'm pretty sure) those tiny baby eels that they serve so often in Catalunya and southern France - the name escapes me -- the ones that look like Chinese cellophane noodles except for the tiny, almost imperceptible black eyes. There is some lemon juice on them. The texture is great, but the flavor is all lemon. This is one small bite of lemon-flavored great texture, and if that's all they are going for, then they are achieving it. The third amuse is the first indication that I might be in for something truly special. It is a "yellow zucchini" puree with balsamic vinegar reduction. I generally don't dig squash, but this is sweet-'n'-sourly smooth with incredible complexity despite an apparently small number of ingredients. I suspect (but can't figure out) that there is some secret seasoning at work. It remains a mystery. OK, that is just the amuses -- three bites and two spoonfuls of food. Now on to the six courses I'm paying for. What comes next is the most inspired, brilliant dish I have ever eaten. Now, for sheer "How the f--- did he do that?"-ness, El Bulli's "Imitation Caviar" blows this away. But for elegance of presentation, taste, and, comparatively most importantly, resemblance to real food, Mulinazzo's "Red Shrimp 'Flower' with Green Marzuelo Tangerine-Infused Extra Virgin Olive Oil" takes the cake. When I return, any of you that are curious can see the picture I took. For now, I will have to try to describe it. It is the most visually stunning dish I have ever seen. Out comes a teardrop-shaped plate, about a foot long, with the pointed end pointing down at me. And on the plate is a painting of a flower. Except it's not -- it's the food. The stems are a combination of chives, julienned peppers, and caviar. The yellowish middle of the flower is a shrimp mousse timbale, surrounded by pinkish petals of red shrimp carpaccio (with an undetermined green wrapper on each, just to set it off from the white plate) and some geometrically diced red pepper for added color. Drizzled over everything is the marzuelo-infused oil. Everything on the plate is raw, but the plate itself is very, very hot, and it serves to cook (ok, really mostly warm) the ingredients. Without being told to do so, I start to eat from the bottom up (this is an El Bulli trick). The best description I can give it that it is very much like my good friend Julian's outstanding scallop carpaccio with sea salt, lemon, caviar and jalapenos (which some of you have eaten), except, alas, it is a hell of a lot better. The flavor is similar. The seasoning, with textured salt you can crunch, is similar. But the marzuelo olive oil and the insane presentation make all the difference. At this point, I begin to suspect that I may have underestimated this place. Next up is "Almond Couscous with Rockfish Soup." Couscous is a staple of Sicilian cuisine, due to the historical Tunisian/Moorish "influence" on the island (as an aside, it doesn't take long in Sicily to realize there's some real truth to Christopher Walken's ...er, uh... shall we say... "aubergine-related" comments in "True Romance" -- but I digress). It's a nice dish -- certainly the best couscous dish I've ever had, but as far as I am concerned that's like saying it's the best coleslaw I've ever had. And it's nothing more than that, except that he gets high points for presenting a very refined version of a local staple. My feelings about the third course are very similar. It is a "Fava Bean Puree with Bacon". It is surely the best split pea soup I have ever had, but I am not really keeping track -- I'd have a hard time identifying a silver medalist in this rather minor competition. It is also the only dish where if I had the ingredients I think I could make something just as good on my own. Sicily has the most incredible fennel ("mountain fennel" they call it) I have ever tasted and, while present in this dish, I think a bit more would be better. I don't mean to be too critical -- I am nearly licking the bowl -- but this isn't in any way refined in a haute cuisine sense. At this point, I'm thinking that this meal can go one of two ways. It can be one great dish leading off a lineup of skilled but uninspired local flavors, or it can be inspired work with a few elegant local staples thrown in. The fourth course settles this. It is the "Fazzoletto" (handkerchief pasta) Siciliana and, more importantly, the finest pasta dish I have ever eaten. It is as beautiful and as fancy-looking as anything you will ever eat, and its visual deconstruction of "pasta con le sarde" (pasta with sardines, perhaps the single most traditional and important staple dish in Palermitan cuisine, and soon to be added to my repertoire) is stunning. It's one of those dishes that you don't even have to taste first to know that it probably will change your life. In the center of the square-ish plate with rounded edges is a sort of deconstructed lasagna, with two-inch square "fazzoletto" pasta that look like they have been perfectly trimmed with pinking shears -- perhaps one of Martha Stewart's prison projects -- interspersed with the best ever salsa sarde. On top of the stack is a beautiful sardine fillet. Along the top of the plate is a dusting of ground nut (hazelnut, as I recall). Down each side is a drizzling of brilliant green, concentrated fennel-infused olive oil. On the bottom is a line of sticky, bright orange sauce with various things stuck in it (fennel fronds, pignole, saffron, dried tomato skin), all geometrically trimmed and beautifully arranged. Every combination -- the pasta itself, the pasta with the sardine, the pasta with the fennel oil, the pasta with some elements of the orange sauce, the pasta with all of the elements of the orange sauce, etc., etc. -- tastes like a completely different dish, each of them delicious. And how the wine-unfriendly elements of this strongly flavored dish do not overwhelm the Montevetrano is beyond me, but they don't. It is a work of art, a total masterpiece. By midway through this dish, I realize that I am in the presence of greatness. I am fidgeting and agitated and have begun muttering things to myself. Sensing my apparent discomfort, Deborah returns - "Eezuh everythinguh all right?" "No," I say. She looks concerned. "It is much, much better than all right." She looks a little bit puzzled, as if she is not quite understanding me but thinks I am paying the restaurant a compliment. "Your chef is a master," I say. "I have eaten at a number of the world's finest restaurants and this is as good as any of them." Now she smiles. "Grazie," she says, seeming relieved. "No seriously, Deborah, I have been to a number of the best restaurants in the world and this right there with them. This chef is world class." Her eyes well up with tears. "Thank you, I will tell him." She hesitatingly starts to walk away, then stops. Now her eyes are visibly pooling. "Thank you," she says. "He is my papa." "Well, your papa is one of the finest chefs in the world," I say. "I hope you are proud of him." She is suddenly totally composed, beams me a knowing, radiant smile, and walks off. At this point, I'm getting pretty full, as each of these dishes is full-sized. Shortly, my main course arrives, and it is stunning. It is "Involtini di Mupa," or less elegantly sounding in English, "Mupa Rolls" with "Crispy Caponata." Mupa is a white fish of some sort -- I have yet to find a translation for it, even using Google. This dish is predictably breathtaking in presentation. It looks almost like a small burrito, cut in half, except the tortilla is the fish. Inside is Sicilian pesto (including mint, raisins, tomatoes along with the other stuff) and shrimp. On the side is a Chinese soup spoon full of julienned celery gelatin -- thin geometric, translucent strips with pieces of celery leaf suspended inside. I pick out a strip and taste it. The celery flavor is overpowering -- I wonder how it is possible to concentrate the flavor of celery to this degree, especially in something that is largely colorless. Underneath the mupa roll is the "Crispy Caponata." "Crispy" is not quite the right word, and neither is "caponata." It is a perfect 1/4 inch dice of the various caponata elements, seasoned liberally with mint. Apparently, there is some debate about whether mint belongs in caponata, but I'm persuaded that it surely does. This is a deconstructed caponata, each element crisped up and looking like the best mirepoix ever. The satisfying vegetable "crunch" in each component is what they mean by "crispy." Again, it looks like a beautiful, undersized burrito on top of impossibly geometric mirepoix with a side of these gelatin strips in a Chinese soup spoon. But it works -- in a way that is so fancy yet so elegant, so understated, and so traditionally Sicilian that it literally moves me almost to tears. By now, I know that this is the best meal I've ever eaten. They offer me cheese, but I decline -- too full. The cart has at least 20 selections, all fascinating (and, to me, exotic) and I'm sure they are all brilliantly selected, but there is simply no room at the inn. Next are the two pre-desserts. I groan but capitulate. First is a lemon granita, which is, as expected, a very delicious lemon granita. Simple enough. Next is poached pear with mint ice cream and chocolate. Like every else, it is delicious and seemingly effortlessly elegant. Thankfully, it is only about three bites. The dessert is a "Deconstructed Cassata", a version of the traditional Sicilian cake made with ricotta cheese and candied fruit. I don't really care for Cassata, but this is great -- the ricotta is done in a whipped foam and the candied fruits are all little artworks and there is a liberal sprinkling of pistachios, which is always a good way to get me to like something. This is all presented on a black plate and is beautiful as well (again, there are pictures when I return). Finally is coffee with petit fours consisting of tiny pistachio cakes and small chocolates. By now, I'm well and truly bursting. But the coffee and the sweets are both excellent. So that's the food. Incredible. But the experience was something more. By now, they know that I think this place is outstanding, that I scheduled my trip from Los Angeles to make sure that I got a chance to eat here, that I've eaten at a lot of other great places, and that I am blown away by the whole evening. They have asked me how I heard about the restaurant. I tell Deborah that with two Michelin stars, the secret is out. She gives me a look that seems to say, "Yeah, that makes sense, but I had never really thought about it." She tells me that they are honored that someone from Los Angeles would come all the way to Sicily to eat their food. I laugh, even though I know she is being sincere. She brings out the literature, showing me that Mulinazzo has been recognized among the finest restaurants in Italy. Yes, I know -- that's why I am here. But in her face, I think I see a realization occurring -- she's finally coming to understand that her family restaurant really is not simply a better version of the place down the street and that she and her closest people have created something truly special. As I am getting ready to leave, I overhear her address the severe, blonde, Slavic woman as "Mama," and I realize that this is truly a family operation. Mama is running the front of the house. And, sure enough, the blonde wine steward is the son. Much like my family, he looks just like his mom and bears little if any resemblance to his sibling. I leave, and waiting for me is Roberto's brother-in-law, apparently called in for emergency relief. He speaks not a word of English (except "brother in law"), and I bundle into the back seat. On the return drive home, a certain weight (and not from the food) settles in. It is about midnight and pitch black as we drive back down the hill from Villafrati -- I know there are dozens of houses scattered on those hills, but there's not a light to be seen. Soon, we hit the outskirts of Palermo, with the housing projects and poverty. As we slow down around a curve, I look out the window to see a family of six sitting on a 15th-floor (the road is elevated) patio of about 3'x4' in size. There is a sheet put up, acting as a curtain. The building is not completed, and the parts that are done are old and worn. Behind them, you can see the stark, tiny place in which they are living. But they appear to be celebrating, the smiles seemingly visible from 50 yards away. And at this point, I feel a chill. I realize that eating this meal by myself made it, in a way, all the better and, in a way, absolutely terrible. I've rarely felt more isolated, jaded, detached, alone than I did at precisely that moment in that cab. Here I am, a solo blonde-headed American tourist stuck in a cab with an uncommunicative driver at midnight in southeast Palermo, returning from the best meal I have ever eaten, only 10 miles up the road from third-world poverty. It was a beautiful and terrible moment all in one, and not being able to share the evening with someone made it all the more stark. I have already recommended Mulinazzo to at least 70 people, and I hope that by recommending it to you, I somehow don't change it. Perhaps I flatter myself in thinking that my enthusiastic visit from so far away might have some influence on the place. I hope it didn't, but I quietly fear it may have. What I mean by this is that I mostly found Sicily to be a very crass, shallow, macho culture, full of hustlers, strivers and all the bad stereotypes you probably already know. Mulinazzo had an almost monastic restraint about it that was brilliant. Unlike most Sicilians, they had no need to tell me how great they were, to try to hustle me or strive too much. They let their product speak for itself, and didn't even mess it up by giving in to the temptation to make the product too talkative. I thought about going back and trying the "Fantastia" menu the next night (and I did see some of the dishes, which looked very impressive), but I decided against it. I'm almost disappointed that the chef (Nino Graziano) has given in to this temptation, but I suppose he can be forgiven. If you are this technically gifted and have any imagination whatsoever, I suppose you have to indulge it in some way. I'm just glad that he had let his Menu "Tradizionale" remain as traditional and elegant as it is. Perhaps I should have quietly enjoyed my food, kept it to myself and left -- maybe that would be best for Mulinazzo. And perhaps I should say nothing to you and keep it to myself -- maybe that would be best for me. But that wouldn't be my way, now would it?