Ni.Do. Caffe - Like it or Not

            Out of town visitors love trying new restaurants.  Such an invitation was extended when my companion, Fred Jonas, and I ended up at a charming-looking Italian spot called Ni.Do. Caffe (Two) a few blocks up from its counterpart, Ni.Do. One.

            As we drove up, the little twinkling lights seemed warm and welcoming, and they were a nice come-on to those whose appetites were waiting to be whetted. Like a sexy woman who enjoys flaunting her stuff, Ni. Do. Caffe might have provided the perfect ambiance were it not for a few glaring flaws:

One, the overhead TV set seemed more fitting in a sports bar than in an Italian restaurant striving for intimacy.  And two, trying to decipher who our server would be was a study in futility.  We could place bets, but our growling stomachs did not allow for such frivolity.  After an afternoon of a stunning Seraphic Fire, Mozart’s Requiem concert, and a few failed attempts at some other eateries (it was Valentine’s Day, and places were booked) we were starving and wanted to get down to the business of food consumption.

We were finally seated at one of the vacant tables. The Maitre D’ was gracious enough, though he seemed a bit frazzled trying to get it all right by accommodating all of his customers simultaneously.  Ditto for our waitress, an attractive young woman with a charming Italian accent.  She was equally eager to please, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to execute that plan with enough aplomb to carry it off without a few faux pas.

While we scanned the menu of gastronomic delights including Formaggi, Antipasti, Insalate, a huge selection of tempting pizzas, and a pasta list as long as an ample thread of linguini, we decided to share a whole wheat Bigoli - a sort-of primavera pasta dish - and a spinach salad.

While we waited for our food, we had a perfect view of the mini-grocery “store”/refrigerator nestled off to the side, and featuring many of the Ni.Do.’s offerings including their olive oils and wines.  Were it not for the noise, my companion and I might have engaged in meaningful conversation, but the acoustics being what they were, it was more “what did you say?” and “I can’t hear you” that were exchanged between us.  Not exactly the perfect Valentine’s Day lingo that we ladies prefer.

It was then the real fun began, which had to do with the word: “share.” Apparently, Ni.Do. Caffe’s idea of sharing means distributing plates designed for bird-type eaters, but not for men with gargantuan appetites.  And even though I eat sparingly, this was bordering on inappropriateness to seem almost insulting,  

The dishes were not split (as requested), but served together in two separate bowls, sans serving utensils.  Add to that the bread basket, which was more a straw box (cute), which was jaw-dropingly disappointing in its bread allotment, though tasty enough.

On the plus side, once we maneuvered the pasta and salad to our small plates, making room for slices of bread and a smidgen of olive oil, we forged ahead with gusto.  I found the pasta to be decidedly delicious, and the salad dressing and Gorgonzola cheese to be as good as it gets. 

Memory lapses also reigned supreme among the servers, as evidenced by our pleas for water, which finally arrived in all its tap water splendor, but only filled up half my glass.  Our server forgot to return to refill the other half, bringing to mind the metaphorical famous quote: should we look at “the glass as half full or half empty?”

Much in the same way, we can interpret Ni.Do. Cafe as a half-empty-half-full experience.  It was full of expectation, some of which was satisfied by the food and well-meaning, though clumsy, attempts by the servers, to make our stay as pleasant as possible.  On the half empty side, like all new restaurants, this one being only four months old, some of the kinks need to be worked out.

On the whole, however, and feeling generous, I would say that Ni.Do. Caffe Two tries hard.  They just need to take it down a notch with the noise, and step it up with the service.  The proof of the pasta, to paraphrase, is in the eating.