When I heard that Il Mulino–New York City’s old-school Italian powerhouse, where it takes weeks (or even months) to snag a reservation–was opening a Gold Coast outpost in the famed Biggs mansion, I enlisted the help of the most old-school Italian eater I know: my father. This is a man who grows misty-eyed when recalling the best stuffed veal he ever ate (at long-gone Doro’s, circa ’82).
But instead of jumping at the chance to hit this spot, he was leery: “Who’s payin’?” he asked. This guy’s no cheapskate; with 50- plus years in the restaurant biz, he’s just no sucker. “I hear they got a $50 veal chop over there! And they want $28 for pasta!”
Yep, Dad, it’s true. Il Mulino New York may bring the cache of its Gotham name, but it’s got the skyscraper-tall tabs too. And if we’ve learned anything from the lame-ass Chicago version of China Grill, big name plus big entrees plus big prices can add up to big dud.
I’ll cut to the chase: Il Mulino’s no China Grill, not even close. Make reservations now; open less than a week, this could become the year’s hot spot. Prices here are–let’s be real–obscene, but Il Mulino is such an absolute charmer, it could be true love anyway.
Better yet: Make Valentine’s Day reservations. The rich, formal details of the rehabbed Biggs–the dark and intimate rooms, those sparkling chandeliers, the 11 fireplaces–make this a can’t-miss special-occasion spot. Uptempo music provides good energy, warding off stuffiness. Sure, Il Mulino may be a chain, with outposts in Long Island, Dallas, Las Vegas and even Tokyo, but I can’t imagine that any came with the instant imprimatur of Old World class that this newly spiffed-up Chicago icon offers (last occupied by Biggs Steakhouse).
Things may get more, shall we say, New World when a downstairs lounge opens this spring. Upstairs, however, is reserved for private parties.
The cuisine highlights Italy’s Abruzzi region. Translated: rustic, with generous portions–but not so large as to be absurd. And in true Italian style, you start eating the moment you’re seated. Plates of spicy, super-thinly sliced, housemade pepperoni and a dish of addictive, fried, marinated zucchini are waiting for you. Go easy on freebies: You’ll be stuffed before you order.
An army of tux-clad waiters–did the women have the night off?–begins a flurry of platings. Management calls it the “octopus” system. One shaves parmesan directly from a wheel; another spoons out fresh bruschetta, offsetting it with a lovely solitary mussel. We even were introduced to an icy tray of raw langostino ($23)–they’re like shrimp on steroids–just to temp us. Order the Grand Marnier-marinated orange for dessert. At $18, it’s the most expensive orange you’ll ever eat, but the tableside preparation’s a hoot.
We started dinner with oysters so fresh and briny (served with a duo of piquant cocktail and mignonette sauces; $22), we slurped all five as fast as we could, just in case they decided to make a getaway. My half-order of porchini-stuffed ravioli ($18) was a textbook example of al dente, and the sauce was creamy, with a nutty, salty top note from the parmesan.
Our entrees were both satisfying, but we had some quibbles–and hey, at these prices, we’re entitled to be picky. The pollo diavolo ($34) was hearty, but the advertised heat was buried beneath a garlic onslaught. And Dad’s costoletta alla Valdostana ($40)–stuffed sauteed veal with cheese and wild mushroom sauce–was way oversalted.
In the end, we got off cheap: $165 before tip. Well, cheap, if you consider Il Mulino hasn’t yet secured its liquor license. The wine list will be mostly Northern Italians and range from $200 to $800 a bottle. (We brought a $10 bottle of Montepulciano D’Abruzzo). The place expects its liquor license as early as today, so ask before you BYOB.
Especially if you’re the one paying.
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clamorte@tribune.com
