The first time I tasted All’onda’s parmesan dashi broth, in which cute, sailors’ hat-tortellini took sail, essences of bonito, seaweed and soy sauce mingled intriguingly with the cheese tucked inside the pasta.
Another time, the soup was oily and separated. But what business did it have with cheese tortellini at all?
Long-awaited, nightly-packed All’onda is a restaurant that’s almost as much about other restaurants as about itself: namely, the Altamarea Group/Michael White Italian empire from which All’onda “consultant” Chris Cannon mysteriously split three years ago and chef/co-owner Chris Jaeckle bolted in 2011.
Its Venetian-focused menu with Japanese inflections strives to prove they can out-think and out-cook the team they left behind. If White taught us how harmonious fusilli, octopus and bone marrow can be, let’s mix up garganelli with yuzukosho!
Most of All’onda’s dishes are very good. Several are great. I was the first critic to award White’s Ai Fiori three stars in 2011 when Jaeckle was its chef de cuisine.
But All’onda’s Japanese edge is one of those attention-grabbing shticks to get the blogs buzzing pre-opening. I’m totally down with squid ink arancini — but uni on top tastes as silly as it looks.
Still, the sea urchin-adorned rice balls (three for $9) are in demand by lounge lizards who pack the raucous ground-floor bar and communal table.
Comfort-cravers should insist on what the publicity material calls a “soaring” upstairs room graced by upholstered booths, wood panels and brass metalwork to “evoke the piers of Venice.”
And for those unsure whether dining is about eating or partying, a starkly decorated alcove splits the difference with cramped tables scrunched amidst decibel-pumping hard edges.
Like White’s restaurants, All’onda lays on the crudo ($13-18), splendidly realized in the form of gleaming, cured sardines, demurely segmented and ornamented with pickled pearl onion and pine nuts. But razor clams are presented in minuscule pieces amidst a “where do we start?” sea of soppressata, green apple and clam gelée.
Square-cut spaghetti, pride of the pasta lineup ($17-19), is endearingly toothsome, tossed with Manila clams, Calabrian chili and crisp bread crumbs. It snaps, crackles and pops on tongue and palate. But yuzukosho was barely discernible with peekytoe crab garganelli, which might have been just as well.
Entrees, reasonably priced at $25-29, include vibrant seafood inspired by the White playbook without mimicking it. Jaeckle lightly coats monkfish in squid ink that darkens and deepens the creature’s lobster-redolent flavor.
The must-have dish is short rib for two ($58). Coated in brown sugar and cayenne, the beef peels effortlessly from the bone. Tomato mostarda and saffron risotto pile on the decadence.
Far from Japanese-subtle, it stops just short of the sweet-and-salty onslaught common at Asianesque jumbos — a balancing act that shows Jaeckle’s originality in its best light.
By comparison, roasted guinea hen laid an egg, but not because it was neo-Nipponized with shio kombu. Like equally dull pork loin, it arrived arid with nary a drop of jus or sauce and begged for rescue by any cuisine.
A singularly charming waitress, Charlene, knew the far-flung menu’s every crest and hollow. Cannon assembled a strong wine list he was eager to share, generously offering us almost too many tastes to absorb at a single meal.
But if he isn’t there, watch out. I once chose a Barolo, not on the list, touted by an excited staffer who said “it just came in.” Had I not been distracted by a rum-rich Venetian sour, I’d have suspected it was years short of maturity.
Olive oil cake and liquor-soaked affogato are marvelous desserts. Soy sauce gelato is an awful Japanese-ish one, while the misery of Fernet Branca panna cotta is purely Italian.
All’onda is off to a promising start. The buzz machine will keep it busy for a long time. But I hope Jaeckle stops trying to show up his former teammates and strives for a higher calling: to be himself.