I've passed by Nellie with no desire to enter, having seen bland-looking pizzas go by (Nellie seems to be a takeaway spot for those in the neighborhood). Unfortunately, it was the only Italian restaurant in the area open on a Sunday, and I was in the mood for pasta but too lazy to make it myself. So when I saw penne arrabbiata on the menu posted outside, I decided to give it a chance.
I wish I hadn't.
My partner and I were greeted warmly enough, and told to pick a table by the door. Yet it seemed that our waiter, who greeted other customers by name (it's a favorite spot for the over-80 crowd), was too busy serving others to give us proper attention. We asked for water twice, and I had to call him back after he hurriedly plonked the pitcher on the table, because he hadn't brought parmesan. He didn't forget the hot oil for the older couple next to us, though: he brought it with their pizzas.
The ink stain on my paper napkin didn't jar me much; neither did the bolognese splatter on the tablecloth, peeking out from under the white waxy paper place settings. The kitschy pink dining room didn't bother me either. Like I said, I was hungry. But when I noticed that their laminated menu boasted burgers as the house specialty, I should have bolted for the door. A place proclaiming to be a pizza restaurant, known for its burgers? It's like those American-Chinese-Thai-Italian restaurants that claim to be specialists in every type of cuisine. How can you be so good at any one cuisine when you spread yourself so thin?
Against my better judgment, we stayed. I ordered the arrabbiata, expecting that I would get a warm bowl of tomato pasta on which to add my own chili flakes. My boyfriend got the penne gorgonzola, a much better choice.
Our bowls arrived quickly, probably because the pasta had boiled hours ago and was still soaking in its pot. Al dente it was not! I asked for parmesan because the pasta couldn't live without it: the tomato sauce was as dull as it could come, even though there were strings of translucent white onions throughout. Were the onions there because they were out of garlic? The menu mentioned garlic, so they surely should have known what arrabbiata was all about. I also found clumps of cheese, whether sad mozzarella or emmental I couldn't tell. By far the worst offender, the thing that the chef presumably assumed would trick diners into thinking this was a true spicy tomato sauce, were sprinkles of Tabasco around these cheesy clumps. Yes, my friends, Tabasco.
My partner's gorgonzola was fine, but gorgonzola is already so flavorful that it would be hard to mess up (you'd think you could say the same for arrabbiata...).
While our pasta was prompt, the bill wasn't. The waiter insisted on bringing our check to the table, and took his time doing so.
Never again, Nellie. I can do a better job cooking pasta at home, and ordering pizza elsewhere. As for the burgers, there are four other spots nearby that don't disappoint. Don't waste your time on this one. read more
