This is a restaurant that will please many Miamians who are desperate for fine, old-fashioned Italian cuisine, though those who know the real deal will bridle at the prices and stiff service. It is, unfortunately, ultimately a place for people with more money than taste.
Call it kitsch or romance -- the gig at the weeks-old Il Mulino seems to be working.
The look is pure nostalgia: red carpeting, white tablecloths, wrought-iron chandeliers, tall, dark and handsome waiters in tuxes and white bow ties -- all punctuated by a single red rose on each table. There's enough marble in the place to make you feel as if you are in the Taj Mahal, or maybe Vegas.
It's packed most nights with birthday and anniversary get-togethers, cozy couples in diamonds and pearls. Weekends find live music like the soulful Nicole Henry doing jazzy classics. And a requisite have-a-drink-at-the bar-while-we-get-your-table-ready seems like a rite of passage until you grease the man at the podium.
Just like at its New York namesake, everyone seems to know everyone. All are having a great time, including the veteran waiters, any one of whom could easily snag a part on The Sopranos with the time-worn Italian accents and savvy one-liners. A pack of them immediately pounces to fill our table with complimentary antipasti -- to make up for waiting at the bar. Still, we were glad for the platters of salami coins; garlicky fried zucchini slivers; a hunk of aged, crystallized Parmigiano cheese with a basket of chewy garlic bread encrusted with a thick mound of salt, garlic and cheese. Fridge-weary tomato bruschetta is so sharp it bites. Chump change.
With $30 pastas coming down the chute, you have to appreciate all the free starters. You also have to appreciate that they are happy to split plates. Portions are mammoth.
A pricey, Italian-centric wine list has some alluring selections, especially in the Tuscan red department, but markups are high: a generic Santa Margherita pinot grigio at $60 goes for a solid three times wholesale. Plus, good luck finding anyone in the place who knows anything about the book.
The by-the-glass wine options ($10 each) are tragic. Reds include a pedestrian California merlot or cab by Sonoma's Oak Hollow or an acidic chianti with no pedigree or backbone. Plus, they are served at a temperature more appropriate for cough syrup than wine.
When it comes to the cooking, much of the fare, like a rack of veal or grilled snapper, is competent. Some, like a spaghettini carbonara, which should have been more egg-yolky and less floury, is clumsy. Rarely is it extraordinary.
Spicy angel hair arrabiata lacked any flair. Pastas win points for being cooked al dente and thankfully not over-sauced.
Still, be wary of the slick waiters who proffer so-called specials without a warning of price. We sampled the signature porcini and truffle ravioli with a grainy champagne sauce for an obscene $36. The sausage pappardelle that was glued together went for a similarly absurd $32 -- about four bucks a square.
The always-available lamb rack special is another off-the-menu ripoff with the sticker price of $60. The tender lollipops of meat are admittedly delicious with a rich red wine and rosemary sauce and soft hunks of potato, but clearly a sucker's prize. A perfectly grilled salmon is served over a bed of peppery broccoli di rabe and crowned with a delectable sauté of mushrooms and onions.
When asked, the waiter insisted the fish was wild though it had the distinctively flabby texture and taste as well as the telltale pale coral and gray color that made me skeptical. At $48, this number needs a birth certificate.
Roman-style baby artichoke were chintzy triangles of somewhat tough leaves draped in a thin robe of stiff prosciutto, then drenched in zingy tomato sauce.
A main course of veal piccata was equally lifeless. A trio of lettuce-thin sheaves of baby beef was pounded so fine then fried until nearly desiccated. A subtle lemon sauce helped rehydrate but not rescue it.
What did satisfy me was a meltingly rich but not overly sweet flourless chocolate cake served in three tiny fingers over a pool of caramel and cocoa-striped zabaglione. Fresh and tart blackberries completed the memorable ensemble. Tiramisu is sloppy, but at least the coffees are well-executed.
This is a restaurant that will please many Miamians who are desperate for fine, old-fashioned Italian cuisine, though those who know the real deal will bridle at the prices and stiff service.
It is, unfortunately, ultimately a place for people with more money than taste.
