Some years ago I had dinner with my wife, a colleague of hers, and his boyfriend who was the hospitality manager at a big hotel. We went to Avanzare in its last days before the space became Tru-- and the boyfriend spent the entire evening pointing out every way that things were being neglected (dirty water in the flower vase), rushed by the B team in the kitchen (premade, ice-cold salads), or generally done in a corner-cutting way that didn't measure up to the standards of the restaurant as I had known it in better days. (Which if forgivable in a single restaurant about to die, was bad policy for a corporation like Lettuce, since I've always kind of had ambivalent feelings towards Tru as a result.) By conventional standards, not exactly the way to enjoy your evening out, but it was a fascinating education, and one of those experiences which made me a smarter spender of my own money ever since.
Three of us had a little bit of the same experience last night dining with Jazzfood at Anteprima-- I don't mean to say that Anteprima was in decline, in fact I liked it well enough on its own terms, or, for that matter, that Jazzfood was anywhere near so monomaniacal in his shattering of our illusions as my Avanzare dining companion years ago, but dish by dish we got a glimpse behind the kitchen doors that gave us a better sense of where it's good, where it's getting by, and how to judge whether where the prices land on such things is always worth it.
My first thought as we walked in was that Anteprima felt like a place in a resort or college town more than one in hip, hopping Chicago-- not sure why, some indefinable combination of coziness, tin ceiling and other funky touches, and an easygoing feel even on a packed and noisy Friday night. (This became all the more surprising when at the end we learned that it's owned by the same folks as Charlie's Ale House a few doors down, which is above average as faux-Anglo-Irish ESPN pubs go... but very definitely of its type.)
A bread basket included very well-liked rosemary-scented breadsticks and some much less interesting corn bread, and a very pleasant glass of Italian wine selected at random turned out to be, for $11, a healthy two-glasses-worth carafe. We ordered a bunch of starters which were all over the map, not bad as bar nosh, but no real standout-- polenta with some rapini was probably the best (actually almost anything that included some bitter greens turned out to be a highlight of the evening), but octopus was mealy despite good flavor, Jazzfood thought a red mullet special was past its prime (that's why it's on special) and the sweet and sour onions came from a jar (not necessarily a disqualification, of course-- they were dressed well), and I joked that some veal meatballs were the Taste of Andersonville Special-- breadcrumb-filled meatballs from Svea in a tomato sauce sweet enough to have come from Calo. The high point was a pretty good plate of salumi, though even it had a ringer-- a precious few, gold-leaf-thin slices of meat from Salumi in Seattle-- which predictably outshone everything else on the plate.
The saving grace was that all of this stuff was, relatively speaking, pretty cheap; add 30 cents worth of grilled zucchini and the mullet could have been an entree portion (not much smaller than my entrees last week at Scylla), yet even it was only $10, and some things on the appetizer menu were as low as $3, a number I can't remember seeing anywhere on a menu at a place like this for a long time.
Pastas were next-- and that was itself a problem, because they arrived so quickly that Jazzfood's suspicions were immediately raised, and it soon became obvious that our half portions were made some minutes earlier as part of someone else's order, or even as part of a big tub of the stuff. (The main clue, besides speed to table, was that they were merely warm, not steaming hot.) The question is-- is a common shortcut for keeping the kitchen running like this a mortal sin, a venial one, or no particular sin at all given that, again, the price is pretty reasonable? At Spiaggia's prices, or even Terragusto's, I might judge such a thing harshly; much less so here, where orrechiete with lamb sausage were a little overcooked, perhaps, but still a nice dish, and strozzapreti (priest-stranglers) had a chewy texture that reminded both G Wiv and myself of the crispy noodles at Little Three Happiness. Even coming to table at less than their absolute peak of potential, I liked both of these dishes a lot. The one dish that was a definite failure was tagliatelle with what was alleged to be duck ragu; it wasn't a ragu but hunks of duck meat, and however it was cooked, the tagliatelle was bland and picked up nothing from its surroundings.
To cut to the chase, I'd stick to pasta at Anteprima, especially if you go on a less busy night when you're likely to get your pasta cooked to order, because what followed was decidedly less successful. Lamp chops in a slightly sweet glazing were boring, cornish game hen was tasty after one bite and too salty after two or three, and a bit overcooked. Desserts were deeply disappointing-- a chocolate hazelnut torte was okay enough, but a lemon panna cotta and a blood-orange custard tart were foodservice-sturdy and unfinishable.
Okay, it may sound like I've ripped through Anteprima with a chainsaw, but you know what? I liked it and I'd go back with a firmer sense of what its strengths are and how to find them. Pastas, especially at some time other than Friday at 8 pm, seem pretty good, and enough of the starters weren't bad that I think you could find nice things there, too. The place is pleasant and friendly, and again, above all things were reasonably priced-- a lot of things I might have been fairly cynical about at $9 or $16 turned out to cost $5 or $11 instead. It's not the second coming of Italian food, it's not a fanatically authentic evocation of the hills of Emilia-Romagna, but it's a nice neighborhood place, and if you're smart about how to spend your money there, if you're
educated as you order, you won't spend all that much of it having a good time.