Veneto Ristorante Italiano

He said:

900 South Street is a gem. A center of Salt Lake counterculture since the 1970s, it exudes a vibrance that embraces art, culture, creativity, and inclusivity. It is now home to some amazing boutique shops, bookstores, cafes, and restaurants, of which Veneto Ristorante Italiano is a part.

We visited the Veneto on a Tuesday evening and found a beautiful restaurant in a converted home. The hostess, our waiter, and his assistant all greeted us at the entry, taking my coat and making us welcome. The three of them seemed to compose the entirety of the front of house staff, though they were able to keep attentive watch on all of the patrons in the intimate dining room.

As the hostess guided us to a table in a corner, I noticed that the dim lighting helped create a romantic atmosphere. I took a seat in a wooden chair, while Kathy got to sit in a beautiful, centuries-old Italian sofa. She looked as elegant as the rest of the room.

Veneto is named after a region of northern Italy and has adopted more than just its cuisine. Among the Italian customs it follows is that Veneto does not accept tips. They pay professional salaries to their dedicated hosts, servers and chefs, and they re-donate any tips received to local charities. This probably results in higher menu prices, but that’s a model that I would like to see more often. However, while they don’t rely on tips, they do follow another Italian custom known as coperto. The coperto is essentially a $6 cover charge for each guest.

The Veneto’s menu has two prix fixe options and an à la carte section. I would have struggled to choose from all the selections, so I happily selected one of the winter tasting menu options. The courses all looked so good that Kathy and I splurged for the full seven courses instead of the simpler four-course dinner.

The Veneto serves its seven courses at a rate that allows guests to savor each course and enjoy a leisurely meal. As such, it takes about two and a half hours. I enjoyed my romantic evening with Kathy, but I suggest that diners who lack conversational skills might want to consider a shorter offering.

We declined any wine pairings—foregoing the restaurant’s abundant wine list that includes bottles from $40 up to $23,000 and more—and instead I paired my meal with my customary diet cola. Nonetheless, I was impressed with the restaurant’s commitment to meticulously curating such an extensive wine list from all twenty regions of Italy.

Our first course, Vellutata Multicolore di Cavolfiore con Speck Croccante e Vavolo Nero, was a tri-color cauliflower velouté, or “satin soup,” in the three colors of the Italian flag, with a few kale chips and a strip of crispy speck. It had an earthy flavor, suitable for a winter menu, I suppose. I enjoyed it, but I was hoping it would be earth-shatteringly good, as I’m always looking for more encouragement to get my little brother to reconsider his dislike for cauliflower.

Next came the Rettangoli do Polenta di Storo Fritta con Monte Veronese Erborinato e Lardo di Colonnata. This was attractively served on a board, with sliced speck, lardo, and a piece of fried polenta topped with Monte Veronese cheese and walnuts. I was a little worried about this one. The menu said that it included “thinly sliced lard.” Immediately, my mind went to my childhood, where we had a bucket of lard under the counter. This metal bucket was full of creamy, white, rendered pig fat. It was barely solid and would become even more fluid with the slightest heat or handling. Its flavor was somewhere between bland and horrible. Why would anybody want to serve it in slices? No, it turned out that this wasn’t lard, but lardo. It did look somewhat like lard, but it was solid. The slice appeared like a white slice of cold-cut. Like lard, lardo also comes from pig fat—specifically from the fat of the back of a pig—but instead of being rendered, it is cured, spiced, and aged. It may have tasted better than lard, but I still found it a bit bland, though it improved with the fabulous, flaked salt that came on the same board.

Our waiter delightfully recited the history of our third course, the Strangola Preti con Burro Fuso e Monte Veronese Stagionato 36 mesi. It comes from the Middle Ages, when villagers in northern Italy had the responsibility to feed traveling priests. Our waiter’s version of the story says one priest loved it so much that he ate too much and choked on it. From that came the name “Strangola Preti”, which translates to “Priest Strangler” or, more commonly, “Priest Choker.” This dumpling dish is surprisingly heavy and dense, but also incredible. It was topped with sage leaves and browned butter. Who knew that a base of stale bread could create such a marvelous morsel? No wonder the priest loved it so much.

Our Spaghetti al Pino Mugo e Bricciole di Pane came next. This was a heap of Gragnano spaghetti glazed with a pine jam, sprinkled with bread crumbs, and topped with a tiny pinecone. The waiter assured me that it was all edible, so I ate the pinecone. It was a baby cone, really not much more than a bud, so it was soft and chewy. There was a hint of pine taste to it, though mostly it bore the sweetness of its glaze. The pasta was also interesting to me. Pasta di Gragnano is considered by some to be the best pasta in the world. While northern Italy may be known for its great fresh pastas like tortellini and tagliatelle, Gragnano—in southern Italy—is said to be the birthplace of dried pasta, including spaghetti. What’s more, true Pasta di Gragnano is made with a high-protein durum wheat that helps keep the pasta firm while it cooks. True to its nature, this dish had a delightsome al dente noodle that was thick and chewy. I liked the sweet pine jam that glazed it, though I think Kathy found it a bit too sweet.

Instead of bringing a fruit sorbet as a palate cleanser, as many restaurants do, Veneto next brought us a Sgroppino al Limone e Amaro della Valle d’Aosta. This light beverage was made with sparkling lemon soda instead of the traditional Prosecco, mixed with lemon sorbet and bitters, and served in a martini glass. A sprig of thyme adorned the drink, which was also sprinkled with dried elderflowers. I tried so hard to identify the elderflowers, but I admit I had to ask what they were. They had a mild flavor—slightly sweet but also a bit earthy—that complemented the bright notes of the lemon. A lemon drink like this might seem like a summer drink, but as lemons peak during the winter, it made an appropriate addition to the night’s menu.

The main course (I think), our sixth, consisted of Petto d’Anatra al Pino Mugo con Puré di Ortiche e Funghi in Padella. This had a sous-vide duck breast with pinecone powder, stinging nettle purée, pan fried mushrooms, and potato purée. Are you kidding me? Stinging nettle purée? My mind immediately raced back to my childhood, when I first discovered (the hard way) stinging nettle in the Wasatch backcountry. But there was no cause to worry. Whatever they did to it removed all the sting. The two outstanding parts of this course were the beautifully seared shallots and the duck breast. The duck breast still had its skin and cap of fat on it, which enhanced its flavor. Plus, the dish was so artfully prepared. It was almost a shame to dig into it, but it was also hard to resist.

Finally, our concluding course arrived: Crema Fritta, or fried pastry cream. This fried custard somewhat resembled a fried cheesecake, though this was thinner and lighter. I found it quite sweet, even without the dusting of powdered sugar.

Wow, that’s a lot to get through, but so was our dinner! The portions were small, though Kathy did hit her limit before reaching the dessert. Nonetheless, they were incredible. I usually like to balance my commentary by noting some of the things that could improve, and honestly, I’ll admit that I’m pretty good at nitpicking and finding flaws. However, in this case, everything really was extraordinary. The food was beautiful and delicious, the staff attentive and friendly, the ambiance romantic and lovely, and the whole evening was charming and memorable.

She said:

From the first moment we stepped foot into the Veneto, I instinctively knew that we were in for a wonderful dining experience.

First, we were led to our table. The hostess noticed my short stature and how far away the table sat from me, so she discreetly pushed it closer to me for my comfort and convenience. This impressed me because Brian and I often go to restaurants where we must take the initiative to scoot tables closer to me so that everything is within comfortable reach.

Now, about our surroundings: The dining room was small, intimate, and cozy. I’m not 100% certain, but I counted a total of ten tables; three of which were partially obscured by lovely bronzy-brown drapes suspended from the ceiling. Above those tables hung white lampshade-style light fixtures, and dark, walnut-brown wooden beams adorned the ceiling.

In our section in the front of the restaurant, there was a large picture window that was prettied up with two-toned chocolate brown and bronze curtains. Next to the window, there was a door with a rectangular window in the center. A few steps led to a lovely, narrow covered patio. I had an excellent view of the twinkly gold lights wrapped around low-lying evergreen bushes, neighboring houses, pedestrians, cyclists, city buses, and so on. I interrupted my perusal by commenting to Brian that I liked sitting near the window and door because the clear street view makes it easy to engage in people-watching, one of my favorite pastimes.

Anyway . . .

I started paying attention to our table. It was draped with a thick, high-quality tablecloth. Set atop it were a lovely votive candle, white linen napkins, nice silverware, crystal goblets, and even crystal tumblers. It exuded class and sophistication.

But, something that I absolutely fell in love with was the burgundy, gold, and black tapestry area rug beneath our feet and the ornate, cabernet-colored Italian sofa I sat on. Not only was it extra-long, but it was upholstered in soft velvet fabric. The armrest, which continued into the leg, was a carved cherub painted in gold. It made me feel like royalty. 😊

I would write about the food, but Brian did a great job describing it all. The one thing I’ll add is that I truly appreciated the al dente texture of the spaghetti and the charming touch found in the cute, teeny-tiny pinecone resting atop the pasta. However, it was much too sweet for me. It tasted more like it was glazed with maple syrup instead of pine jam.

My appetite was quickly satiated with the soup, spaghetti, and dumplings, so I asked for the rest of the food—minus the palate cleanser—to be boxed up. Each time I asked to box a portion, our waiter would discreetly whisk it away. When I finally finished and prepared to leave, the hostess handed me a big, handled paper bag with my leftovers and dessert inside. Upon a quick inspection of the contents, I discovered that all four boxes had been labeled and closed with gold foil seals embossed with the restaurant’s name. That was a really great touch.

I informed our waiter that everything had been delicious and satisfying, but that I was experiencing a food coma.

He smiled and said, “Hopefully, it’s a good food coma.”

I laughed and affirmed that, indeed, it was. Indeed, it was.

Conclusion:

Veneto Ristorante Italiano can be a bit expensive, but it delivers an impressive experience with romance, beauty, attentive service, and delicious food that captures the wonder of northern Italy.