Review: Il Mulino New York

Il Mulino imports N.Y. glitz--for a price

By Phil Vettel

August 29, 2007


Originally published March 23, 2006

2 stars (out of four)

Rating key:
4: Outstanding
3: Excellent
2: Very good
1: Good
Satisfactory
Unsatisfactory

It was impossible not to notice the lady by the bar. Her slim figure was draped in red, in a restaurant in which just about everyone else was wearing black. Her jewelry wasn't ostentatious, but clearly expensive. She'd been fussed over by the staff, she had a glass of champagne in her hand, and she and I had met over a plate of fried zucchini while waiting for our tables.

The lady in red gave Il Mulino New York (click for address, maps, hours) a cool look of approval, while wondering aloud if Chicago would warm up to this New York import, if they would spend, as she put it, "$40 for pasta." Her eyes danced from the crystal chandeliers to the impossibly long curtains and the wall-hung Italian tapestry, and settled derisively at the shirt-and-Dockers customers by the window. "At least you're wearing a jacket," she told me, and I almost blushed with gratitude.

Yes, you will want to wear at least a sport coat to Il Mulino, and yes, you will spend--well, not quite $40 for pasta, but definitely in the mid-$30s, and considerably more for veal and fish. Il Mulino, which opened in late January, is the most expensive Italian restaurant to hit the Gold Coast since Spiaggia made its debut in 1984 (this sentence as published has been corrected in this text).  But four-star Spiaggia is all about precision, restraint and individual moments of perfection. Il Mulino paints with a much broader brush; its style is showy and bold, and as much as anything tries to wow with extravagance.

It's not just that the waiters are in tuxedos (and white tie, at that); it's that there's an army of them, a culinary march of the penguins that ensures that you won't wait more than a split-second for anything.

Indeed, there's already food on the table when you arrive. A small plate holds five or six coins of soprasetta salami; another dish contains peppery sauteed eggplant. Moments after you sit down, a waiter delivers a hunk of Parmesan Reggiano, carved tableside from an even larger hunk. Another waiter fetches bruschetta, smothered in very tasty tomatoes, and a pristine chilled mussel or two. Garlic bread follows, and then a breadbasket of rolls and focaccia.

Some time after that, you may call for the menus.

The menu presentation involves yet another ritual. Our captain handed us an oversized, two-page menu, and then launched into an oral recitation of the day's specials. This oral list is almost as long as the menu itself; my eyes grew wider with each "I also have . . . " introduction. And just about at the point when I began speculating whether ears could, in fact, glaze over, my loquacious friend finished. Whereupon, thank goodness, he handed us a sheet with all the specials printed out. (It might have been helpful to have issued these up-front, so we could follow along.)

More ceremony follows. A display of enormous langoustines is brought to the table with the sort of reverence one might associate with the Crown Jewels. Main courses, as often as not, require bits of last-minute tableside fussing--a ladle of sauce here, a bit of artful assembly there. Even pastas emerge from the kitchen about three-quarters done, and are finished by waiters at one of several gas burners spaced along the foyer.

And mid-meal, tables are reset with a fresh tablecloth, with linen-snapping flourishes that border on the silly.

"Throughout the meal," says maitre d' Nick Sarantidis, "the idea is that not five minutes go by without someone touching the table."

The trick is to pamper without intruding, and by and large, Il Mulino manages that balancing act just fine. After two meals there, I felt coddled within an inch of my life, though if one more person called me "dottore" (my companions were invariably bellissimas), I was going to whip out a stethoscope.

Whether any of this can possibly justify Il Mulino's penthouse-level prices is up to the person wielding the credit card. From the viewpoint of atmosphere, Il Mulino is worth every cent; the former Biggs mansion has always been an attractive space, but it's just breathtaking these days, awash in rich fabrics and beautiful art. The light level is dim enough to make menu-perusing a challenge for those of us with over-40 eyes, but it casts the dining rooms in a romantic glow. Were the tables not so closely spaced to make intimacy impossible, this might be the most romantic venue in town.

The food at Il Mulino is never less than solid, and occasionally spectacular. But not all its dishes stand up to top-dollar scrutiny. A langoustine appetizer proved to be two firm and fleshy langoustines over an indifferent mushroom risotto; for $23, I needed more oomph. A plate of mushroom caps stuffed with escargots in spicy marinara is quite tasty, but it's difficult to overlook that $22 price tag.

I simply don't get the Oysters Royale, a half-dozen baked oysters topped with fresh salmon and bacon. The portions are so large that it's virtually impossible to take in all three components in a single bite, and eating it is like experiencing one moment in an oddly chosen buffet.

Pasta dishes, however, are terrific. Potato gnocchi are tossed in a bit more basil pesto than necessary, but the gnocchi nuggets have a delicate texture and the garlicky pesto is bracing. And I'd pay almost any price, even the $36 demanded here (but $18 for a half-portion), for the porcini-filled ravioli squares in a champagne cream sauce with black truffle paste. The mushrooms and truffle combine for a flavor that's equal parts earthiness and decadence, and the ravioli themselves arrived a perfect al dente. This is how I want my pasta to be all the time.

In the same way, the double-cut veal chops are pricey, but not appreciably more so than you'd find at a top-tier steakhouse, and the quality is just as good. Branzino (sea bass) baked in a sea-salt crust is an eye-popping $48, but it's the best sea bass I've had in my life, with just a dab of lemony vinaigrette added to enhance the flavor. But while I enjoyed the osso buco, there are plenty of restaurants in town who do this dish well, for a great deal less than $42.

Il Mulino is busy remodeling the basement-level space into a much-needed bar and lounge. At present, there's almost no waiting room for unseated parties--a big part of the reason the house is still rather stingy with reservations.

More changes need to come. The first dining room, the one with the small service bar, needs to lose a table. I had the unfortunate experience of dining at the middle deuce of a trio of closely set tables, and while the couples seated on either side proved to be charming de facto dining companions, I had to lean over every time a waiter tried to serve my wife a dish.

The by-the-glass wine program is non-existent, but Sarantidis says that will change. It needs to. The bar one night was pouring exactly one white wine--a Cavit pinot grigio that likely would be nobody's first choice, certainly not at $11 per glass. Stick to cocktails, champagne and full bottles (off the pricey, mid-sized list) for the time being.

Still feeling its way through new territory, Il Mulino is not yet the restaurant it wants to be, nor the restaurant it needs to be. It certainly offers Chicagoans a unique dining experience; we shall see if the locals will pay for the privilege.

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Il Mulino New York
1150 N. Dearborn St.
312-440-8888

Phil Vettel is the Chicago Tribune restaurant critic.