UVA Review!

As a petite addendum to my last post, here is a review of Uva from Yelp. Like the NYTimes review it mentions the transcendent ricotta gnocchi--Now do you believe me?!!

I have been inspired by my fellow gnocchi eater. I think I was a wee bit tired of the 'ol gnocchi. I have to admit, I had a run in with many a Meh gnoc. Chewy, rubbery or bad sauce. These did not inspire. These did not make my taste buds explode! Through my friend, I shall find the stregnth to continue my gnocchi research. My gnocchi calling! Thank you. Thank you for seeing me through the dark. Hello Gnocchi, I'm home!

Ok, anyone who knows me knows I’m no stranger to hyperbole—when it comes to behavior, that is. If that’s even a valid way to describe behavior, I would say that mine certainly qualifies: I regularly freak people out with bursts of sudden affection or enthusiasm, and my facial expressions earned me the nickname “the human cartoon” in high school.

But.

Where words are concerned I am usually quite conservative. No, not in the number of words I use--I’m quite aware that I’m verbose—but in the ways I describe things. I hedge my bets when making sweeping statements and think the word “amazing” is WAY overused.

But.

The gnocchi I had last night at Uva may very well be the best I have ever had.

Some background: Uva is a restaurant nearby the apartment where the husb and I moved last year. We chose it randomly for dinner one night and have been back several times since, mostly because they serve fizzy red wine in ceramic bowls! (It’s got a fancy name that I can’t recall at the moment.) Apparently it’s an ancient tradition among gnarled old Italian men to drink in this manner, their mid-afternoon benders evident from the telltale redness on their thumbs after raising a bowl or two. I have no idea as to the significance of the bowl itself, but it sure makes one feel…well, authentic in some way.

The food, of course, is another attraction. Not your run-of-the-mill “American Italian” fare, Uva’s menu includes a range of chisolino (emilian style focaccia) and carta de musica condita (stacks of flatbread with topping), as well as bruschettas, anitpastas, and cheese plates to start, plus salads and a range of unique pasta dishes. I ordered the wheat spiral pasta with tomato and pesto, and I thought I had it good. However. Upon tasting the husb’s choice of gnocchi with ricotta, black truffle oil and chives, I considered knocking him out with a wine bowl to get my hands on the rest of his meal.

Ok, fine. I’d never do that. Plus it would take quite a whack to get through his giant noggin. And there were plenty o’ witnesses. AND he was nice enough to give me a bite every time I looked longingly at his plate with widened eyes and shaking head.

I mean, the stuff was unbelievable. Transcendent. Amazing.(And we already know how I feel about that word.) I had never tasted truffle oil before, but now I know why people rave about it. It really should be a controlled substance. I’m sure that in large amounts it would completely overwhelm anything it’s paired with, but Uvo’s sauce was perfectly balanced: slightly garlic-y, creamy, ever-so-slightly salty, with an additional element that I can’t describe. Must have been the truffles. You’ll just have to go and taste it for yourself. If you do, be nice to the waitress named Pascale. It was her first night when we were there but she charmed the pants off us both.

Or perhaps it was just the gnocchi.