Launching in, cannonball-style!

My most recent rendezvous with gnocchi was at Angels on 1st Ave & between 62nd & 61st Streets. I must admit I had heard that it wasn't exactly stellar, but we the ladies were hungry and it seemed as good a place as any.

Beginning with the positives (though they don't relate directly to the pasta at hand), my appetizer was great, and so was the wine. Unfortunately, the gnocchi was...well, disappointing: a bit tough like it either had maybe been boiled too long or not long enough, perhaps it was frozen instead of fresh (a cardinal sin as well as a death sentence for the taste.) Something about tough gnocchi makes ya more conscious of the potato content, which really should be an afterthought. In my ideal world, gnocchi is an unassuming li'l mouthful of happy, a culinary hug if you will, and the taste should never make you hyper-aware of the ingredients. Instead, it should just merge gently with your system like a squishy comfort-filled quaalude. (A tall order I know, but not an unattainable one. The gold standard in my own mind was set by certain restaurants that I'll rave about in later posts.)

I hereby pass the baton to the other members of Team Gnocchi.