Amici Restaurant

Semper Amici*

This week the redoubtable Sancho and I were cruising the streets of Middletown, searching for a restaurant that might offer us a memorable repast. Over the last few weeks we have received many hints and suggestions as to where such a meal might be found, but as we drove around in our new Toyota Rocinante, a vehicle that gets hundreds of miles per gallon since it only travels in reverse, we had to settle for where we could find a parking place that was convenient to back into. We cruised past “The Cardinal’s Nest” on Church Street, brightly lighted outside but a little dark inside with two patrons in the window and empty stools in the background; “Sammy’s”, with its Prime Rib Special had five patrons and almost added two carnivores except for our parking problem; “The Tuscany Grill” had a lively looking table of four; “Thai Garden” was half dismal and half light but since we don’t understand Thai food we passed it; “Fishbone” was completely empty, but more appealing than the last time we went by when two of the staff were smoking out front while all the tables inside went unused; “First and Last” was jumping with folks and two were necking in the window; and then we found a space in front of “Amici” and backed into a stall ready made for our trusty Rocinante. “Sancho”, I said, “It must be fate.”

We were encouraged by the fact that there were a number of tables occupied and we were willing to overlook the uncanny resemblance Amici’s interior has to a “Friendly’s Restaurant” or a Regional Call Center, both of which I am loath to admit my over-familiarity with. Our booth was a typical cubicle, which always reminds me of the game “Whack a’Mole” for some reason, complete with torn leatherette seating. “Sancho”, I wondered aloud, “Did you tear that seat with your substantial girth?” But Sancho insisted it was already torn prior to the lowering of a massive hindquarter. Of course, there was no tablecloth on the Formica tabletop as this seems to be the custom in this town, and the substantial silverware is set on the table rolled in a napkin (paper at lunch, cloth at dinner). Somehow this is acceptable to someone, yet I always wonder what I should do? Should I place the napkin on my lap as my momma taught me? And properly set the table, as well? But this leaves the silverware no where to go except on the bare tabletop. I must assume that the tabletop has been somehow sanitized to accept silverware, but this is an assumption I am not willing to make in light of the dusty liter of mineral water that decorates our table as well as each and every other table, in lieu of flowers or candles. “Sancho,” I had to ask, “Who would want a dusty bottle of warm mineral water?” I received no response since Sancho was deeply involved in the two page, leatherette bound Martini list. “Let’s have a Flirtini”, Sancho said, “It is a mixture of Ketel One Vodka, champagne (which could mean anything, I guess, even foam from the great cataract called Niagara), and pineapple juice.”

“It certainly sounds ‘Flirtini’”, I affirmed, but seeing how Sancho and I have been together so long that the youth has been taken out of the euphemism and we do like to actually sleep together, I added, “my friend, how can you consume such a jolt of alcohol and focus on the fine flavors of the fabulous food? Forget about it.” Before Sancho could alliterate an appropriate answer our waiter arrived for our potential order. We had to send him away, since we are inordinately slow to decide on anything. We did try the tap water he offered which came in a freshly sanitized glass and tasted a lot like bleach. The slice of lemon added a nuance. There was also roasted whole garlic and bread, but there didn’t have to be to increase our enjoyment. Our mouths dropped open at the wine list, because I do not think, with the possible exception of Harbor Park, that there is a worse wine list in Middletown. Amici is an Italian restaurant with three Italian red wines and three Italian white wines. All the lesser priced wines are marked up four times cost, and the wines themselves chosen with care to efficiently deplete cases from some wholesaler’s loading dock. At this point we probably should have gotten up and cut our losses and left, but we felt that if we took another joust at this beast we might be rewarded.

Now this gets funny, so be prepared to laugh. Sancho orders the “Risotto Special Appetizer” and the “Warm Goat Cheese Salad”. When you are charging $16 for the Risotto Special Appetizer and another $9 for the “Warm Goat Cheese Salad”, you had better deliver some kind of goods. And, sure enough, neither of us has ever had risotto like this before. It came in a modestly portioned (risotto actual value, $3), molded log shape that gave our suspicious natures the impression that it might have been baked. There were three (count them: three) scallops riding the log, each butter-burnt crisp on the outside and vapid on the inside. The risotto itself had a commercial flavor that may have come from Lipton Cup-o-Soup while the Sahara-like aridity and lack of any kind of creamy goodness brought my friend Sancho to tears. “Don’t these people even taste their own food?” Sancho lamented incredulously, “Don’t they know that this doesn’t taste good at all?” This led us to wonder if anyone in the restaurant had ever been to a really good Italian-themed restaurant like “Peppercorn’s” in Hartford, “Cavey’s Upstairs” in Manchester, or even an old-school standby like Carbone’s, the denizen of the marinara-sauce sea that flows down Franklin Avenue in Hartford? Is Middletown Main Street caught in a Star Trekian force field keeping folks trapped within its small borders, or simply suffering from some sort of flat-world inbreeding? Now here comes the really funny part that I told you about. After our dining experience Sancho Googles restaurant reviews of Amici and comes across a review from 2006. The reviewer screams that the Special Risotto Appetizer is over-valued and a rip-off! Yes, that is a four-year Special that they have been running, and don’t we feel foolish for having read the review after dining and not before. At least the price of rice has not risen!

Was the “Warm Goat Cheese Salad” better? Negative. What was delivered was a slightly bigger than silver dollar sized piece of a creamy goat cheese sitting at the apex of half a bag of organic spring mix greens covering a reasonably tasty layer of roasted peppers and decorated with a few un-toasted pine nuts and decidedly mushy tomato slices. When Sancho whined, “I like pine nuts”, I took heart and suggested the bright purple dressing that was sitting in a metal Dixie-cup, half-buried in the greens. Wisely, Sancho demurred after an experimental taste revealed an extremely tart cranberry vinaigrette which, in theory, might have served as a foil for the goat cheese but simply didn’t work in this overwhelmingly green, Al Gore-green, reality show. Sancho picked out the pine-nuts, ate the cheese and peppers and left the rest. My “House Salad”, which came with my order of Lasagna was simple, in a small bowl with its Dixie-cup of creamy peppercorn dressing pushing against a grape tomato. I found it odd that my salad had a grape tomato while Sancho’s had a full-sized mushy tomato. Haven’t they heard of “Ugly-ripe”? Was my little bowl of greens pre-plated some other day or was it vice-versa? We ate quietly under the un-dimmable glare of the damnable incandescent bulbs that caused us to lust for those translucent green visor hats dealers sometimes wear at poker tables, but we still managed to spill some dressing on our table. Our waiter didn’t seem to mind our soil, however, and simply asked us to pass him the wine glasses so that he could pour. “Do you want to taste first?”, he asked politely as he ignored the puddles and proceeded to push my Lasagna boat through them as the obsessive Sancho used a napkin to dab at the spilled sauce.

The wine doesn’t deserve a comment but, again, someone should take a trip to “Bin 228”, a Panini bar on Pearl Street in Hartford, to get an idea as to just how creative a great Italian wine list can be with wines that are easy to enjoy, easy on the pocketbook and from reliable regions. The only reason I can think of to serve a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, an honest if simple red wine that says on the label “aged 11 months in oak” is to try and justify a $34 price tag. When Sancho started talking about lipstick and pigs, I knew things were not going well. And who is it that insists on drinking cabernet or merlot with red sauce? Please stop it! Maybe restaurants like Amici will begin to realize that we are not all dolts driven by advertising and that we want better choices.

But I have digressed. The aforementioned lasagna boat pulled in over the surf of slick salad sauce and landed in front of me. It was one red hot raft moored in a ladle of unpalatable lukewarm-to-cool marinara sauce. There were some dabs of hot mozzarella sheathing the pasta but inside was a grainy composition of ricotta cheese and ground beef(?). I am theorizing that frozen/stale lasagna was micro-waved on the scorch setting and then placed on the plate of sauce which waited patiently on the kitchen serving counter before receiving its passenger and disembarking to make a stop at our table (before continuing on its journey to our house where, still unconsumed, it crouches in its Styrofoam case in our refrigerator daring a brave/starving person to just try and eat it).

“Well, Sancho”, I ventured, “Fate was unkind tonight. I fear that if we desire a memorable meal we will have to go further north to “de cuyo nombre no quiero acordame”. But Sancho would have none of it, he was busy figuring. “You know”, he concluded, “the next time we come to “Amici” I am going to starve myself for a week. That will heighten my appreciation for food.”

I had to chuckle because Sancho has never starved himself for a day, never mind a week. “Sancho, the next time we come to “Amici” you would be better off eating first.” Considering these two clever, if paradoxical, Amici approaches, Sancho had an epiphany, “Either way we could concentrate on just enjoying our Flirtinis.”

“Ah, Sancho”, I concluded, “there’s Rocinante, let’s try driving forward for a change!”


Bottom Line:
Special Risotto Appetizer, $16; Warm Goat Cheese Salad, $9; Lasagna, $15; bottle of wine, $34.
Service was less than professional although polite and prompt.

*Semper Amici (Always Friends) was an exclusive fraternity for Middletown’s adolescent Italian youths. Flourishing in the early 1960’s, their green wool bomber jackets with red embroidered “Semper Amici” were coveted by many.