Gioco Saturday night. 6:00 pm reservation because we had plans. We arrived right on time and were astonished at how full this fairly large place already was. Maybe everyone else had plans, too. For those who have never been, the room is high-ceilinged and brick walled, hardwood floors. Very attractive and very noisy. (Though, in fairness, we did not have much trouble hearing each other.) Along the left-hand wall as you enter is the maitre d’s station and then a long bar, culminating in the servers’ order station. Then, on the right, two long parallel rows, predominantly two-tops. We were the last table in the row immediately to the right of this long “aisle.” The entire time we were there, virtually every couple, group, and marauding horde marched past us to get to their table. Immediately behind us, the kitchen’s flight deck: every dish coming out of the kitchen flew past. Sitting at the confluence was not pleasant. The absolute least they could do is put some kind of furniture/screen/etc. to help partition or shelter diners from the constant (and I mean constant) traffic. The first two things we noticed after being seated were (1) the large number of staff on hand and (2) the urgency with which they all moved. They didn’t run, they didn’t hurry, but the pace was what Shakespeare might have called “the stride purposeful.” After a while, you get tired just seeing so damn much intensity.
We split an artichoke tart to start. Although it looked for all the world like a small apple tart, the flavor was very good. Small slices of perfectly-done artichoke, caramelized fennel, red onion, and (supposedly) a green olive and oven-dried tomato emulsion. Neither one of us could identify anything like green olive or tomato; instead, there was a dab of tangy white sauce with several sprigs of fresh thyme. No matter. Although I found the crust had a nice flavor, I thought it a little soggy, as if stored somewhat less than appropriately. A pity, since the execution, presentation, and flavor were fine.
The Lovely Dining Companion had roasted salmon presented swimming in a little sea-broth of cannelini beans, escarole, and cherry tomatoes. Again, a very attractive presentation and LDC pronounced herself very happy with the dish. The portion was more than adequate and the flavors “wonderful.” I had the evening’s mystery dish. It’s listed as veal saltimbocca. (Unfortunately, I don’t recall the exact words—a matter of some importance as you will see.) In my experience (and I’ve had this dish a lot because it’s one of my favorites), the veal is accompanied by sage and prosciutto. Well, the veal was a good-sized piece, the sage fresh and pungent, and the prosciutto…. Well, I’d tell you about the prosciutto if it had been there. Not only was it missing, it was replaced by what looked like a square of cheese melted on top. The cheese simply didn’t work—for me. The cheese and the sage didn’t quite hit it off and I really missed the saltiness of the prosciutto. (I should note that the veal sat atop a generous bed of spinach sauteed with slices of garlic. Sides, or
contorni, are all a la carte, a trend I for one find annoying and somewhat lazy. But that’s another thread.)
Which leads to my parenthetical question. I have not had a chance to do my research. Is saltimbocca a regional dish prepared differently in different places? That seems entirely plausible to me, my experience notwithstanding. I believe the “standard” presentation is
alla romana and includes the prosciutto. But elsewhere, I suppose, it might be dispensed with. I know that every time I have ever had it, it has had the prosciutto and never had cheese. In retrospect, I may have always seen (and ordered)
saltimbocca alla romana and the menu at Gioco may not have been Roman-style. In all honesty, I don’t believe that the menu said
alla Romana. So maybe I had an unfamiliar version. I’d be grateful for any enlightenment.
Bread: very good, but not more. Wine (2005 Cycles Gladiator Pinot Noir) fair to middling. Dessert: top-notch. As I have noted in other reviews, I’m a sucker for good sorbet. Sadly, too few dessert chefs seem to make them with the intense flavors I enjoy. Indeed, two of my most vivid memories are of opposite experiences: at Pili Pili (Fred Ramos’ last restaurant), the offerings were flat-out insipid. At Aria, perhaps the best I’ve ever had. Gioco’s ran a close second (to Aria). I chose the three sorbets on offer (there were three sorbetti, three gelati). The sorbetti were peach almond, passionfruit, and raspberry. LDC also had the passionfruit and raspberry and elected butter pecan gelato for her third. Every single flavor was concentrated, fully realized, and exactly right. Not too sweet, no slightly off finishes. Just exactly what you should get.
Dinner, tax, and tip (one entrée, one glass of wine, two desserts, no coffee): $88. We will be back, but I will insist on a table either in the “back room” or somewhere other than the flight deck. I think we will also try to go on an evening when the pace should be a little less frenetic. We liked the menu choices, liked the food for the most part, and enjoyed the place itself. It was just the “other” things like the location of our table and its constant, very busy feel. Seated at the confluence of the new arrivals’ landing strip and the servers’ launching pad, there was way too much traffic. And it didn’t help that the staff chose this spot for their quick conversations: “That’s a glass of Pinot over at table 62, please.” “Check and see if they need anything over there.” “Can you get some more water to 45?” “What do you need?” Traffic or talk, the entire time we were there. I don’t blame them for doing their job; I just wish they had chosen another location to talk (plenty were available) or that the designer had spent a little more time thinking about the diners’ experience.
Gioco
1312 South Wabash
Chicago, IL 60605
(312) 939-3870
Monday through Thursday 5 p.m. to 10 p.m.
Friday and Saturday 5 p.m. to midnight; Sunday 5p.m. to 10 p.m.
Monday through Friday, 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)