Dinner at Seattle’s Barolo Ristorante is the kind of experience where you want to change your name to something sexy and flirt with the patrons at nearby tables. The chic atmosphere inside Barolo is a welcome departure from the many Northwest restaurants who try too hard and can’t seem to get it. As a relative newbie in Seattle, my first thought as I stepped inside from another cold, rainy night was “ahhhh. At last.” Barolo embodies authentic Seattle cool factor. In a town so musically inclined, the amount of tragically outdated European lounge music coursing through dining rooms is unforgivable. Here however, someone is on top of it, and the slick grooves that greet you set a nice precedence for the experience to follow. The restaurant’s design is clean, but not sterile. The décor is brilliantly layered, not cluttered. Chandeliers reminiscent of vintage Paris dangle throughout, lending an extra aesthetic if you tire of looking at the city lights that serve as a moving art piece down one side of the room.

Table settings were functional, not cluttered with sugar packets and flowers. One long candle burned at the corner of our two-top, displaying a bit of old world elegance from the months of melted wax built upon the candlestick.

We were incredibly impressed taking in the lay of the land. But the true test of any restaurant is not how cool their bathrooms are (though Barolo’s deserve a grand mention - awesome). We held our breath in anticipation of service and dinner. Did we find a place in Seattle that we could love without a caveat?

We opted to start with an entrée pasta as an appetizer after the dapper manager Eric recounted a story of an 85-year old woman calling it “the sexiest pasta ever.” Tortelloni alla Piemontese, filled with porcini mushrooms, claiming to be fresh and homemade (we’re always skeptics), and accompanied with a truffle-leek sauce. Looks good in print, right?

As an aside, I need to admit that I’m suffering great pain, both as a writer and a foodie, that what follows might not accurately capture the awesomeness of the Tortelloni. I will try my best, but it was another dimension.

First, the pasta is most definitely fresh and homemade. In fact, where most pastas are forgettable, this one was perfectly distracting. Each individual pasta was big enough to savor for three bites (we eat like girls), and while we each nibbled our first piece the conversation was not about the rich, gorgeous texture of the porcini mushroom inside; it was not about the exactly right use of truffle (not too much, just enough) and the simply perfect addition of leek; it was about the bite, the al dente, the body of the actual pasta.

So many times, all over the world, the pasta is thin, overcooked, but it goes widely unnoticed because the filling is delicious. Food writers declare “best pasta in town!” when the actual pasta is nothing more than a flimsy vessel for the filling; it has no personality of its own. People seem to forget that the first ingredient of a great pasta dish is not great herbs or meats, but great pasta.

This is not the case at Barolo. The tortelloni shell was such a treat it could’ve been served to us empty and we still would’ve waxed on and on about its utter perfection. The last time I had pasta that put me in that dreamlike state of food hypnosis, I was in Rome. Until now, that is.

And we were there to eat! Mangia, mangia! Not just one dish shared among us (maybe we don’t eat like girls afterall). The rest of the night included baby octopus with fresh rosemary and parsley in a wine reduction sauce, a green salad with fennel and more perfectly applied truffle dressing, and a rack of New Zealand lamb with a cherry and Amarone sauce. The previous testimonial about hypnotic pasta? I could repeat the process with each dish. The cherry and Amarone sauce had an enrapturing tease of sweetness. The combination of fennel and truffle offered up mind-boggling balance. Everything was terrific. In fact, I almost wish I wasn’t writing this review, because to call the food terrific, delicious, perfectly executed, show-stopping… all of it seems a semantic disservice.

And speaking of service: spot on. Our server was conversational without being annoying. He seemed happy to be there, and happy to have us at his table. He kept a brilliant pace through the evening. He never lingered too long, and was always available when we looked up. And he was from Italy, which was gratuitous icing on the cake.

The cake! The cake. It was simple chocolate, with vanilla sauce. I believe it is the original intention of the chocolate lava craze, but this cake did not have a stiff flour-laden outside, and grotesque oozy chocolate innards. Rather, it was fluffy and dense throughout, mousse-like but not, and the oozy chocolate happened in your mouth. As soon as the bite hits your tongue, it melts. Unreal.

Barolo has put wind in my foodie sails. I’m relieved, revitalized to discover a world-class treat modestly nesting astride the tracks of the South Lake Union Trolley (wink wink, if you live here, you understand). My previous dilemma of moving to Seattle from a foodie city and not particularly enjoying my restaurant exploration has been replaced with a brand new dilemma. If Seattle supports a savvy establishment like Barolo (and the Wednesday night crowd suggests there is support aplenty), there have got to be other spots buried in this city that I could also love. But now that I’ve found a place to dine that satisfies so completely, how will I go anywhere else?

Barolo Ristorante
1940 Westlake Ave
Seattle, WA 98101
Tel: (206) 770-9000
www.baroloseattle.com

-Written by Olivia Wolfe (OliviaTheWolfe@gmail.com)

Olivia Wolfe will not be in Seattle forever but intends to eat, drink, listen, and play her way through the city before she moves on. She welcomes and encourages suggestions.

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