Julie and I went to Il Mulino on Saturday night. I was anxious to see if it lived up to the mythic standards of our Christmastime lunches. The Chicago branch is the third (after NYC and Las Vegas) and although it is housed in a beautifully renovated Dearborn St. mansion, the entire evening felt mass-produced. They've attempted to recreate the experience of the original--the zucchini marinated in garlic and oil, parmigiano reggiano, and bruschetta all on the house to start, grappa with raisins to finish, and the same dishes in between, including the milano arugula--but it all was just ordinary. Of course, it didn't help that we were there on a Saturday night: there is no shortage of people in Chicago ready to drop five hundred bucks on dinner without even thinking about it. At one point, there was literally a crush of people at the front door. Ugh.
Our original Il Mulino experiences will never be surpassed now that it has gone the route of a franchise.
And so we beat on, boats against the current...
4 comments:
Special experiences are diminished on revisiting. (Taken from a book by Confucius Ginsberg.)
Amen.
You are the Buddha.
I hope the grappa was as good.
In the immortal words of the Duke at that lunch, "Here Murphy. It taste like paint thinner. Drink it."
I'm shocked the Duke passed on any booze that day. I'm sure if someone struck a match he would have gone up in flames.
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