Almost a decade ago, Christian Fantoni ran the kitchen at Fiamma,
a Michelin-starred Italian restaurant in New York City with a big following. A few years later, he was making wedge salads
and chicken parm at a Portillo’s branch in Aurora. It’s been a strange career, but with knowledge
of his early accolades I was intrigued when I learned that he’d taken over the
kitchen at Phil Stefani’s 437 Rush, normally the kind of business lunch,
try-to-please-everyone place I avoid. In
3 meals during the early part of 2013, I saw a tiny glimpse of what might have
been the Fiamma Fantoni, but for the most part I still see the same Phil
Stefani 437 Rush that’s always been there, with perhaps even a slight decline
in basic execution.
A delicate bibb lettuce pesto was crisp and bright without
overpowering the meticulously-prepared clams and tender cuttlefish that were
the stars of the dish. These ingredients
sauced flavorful potato gnocchi that,
while not as light and dreamy as those at places such as a Tavola and Spiaggia,
were well-crafted - not the gummy,
leaden balls found at most restaurants. Textures
and flavors worked in harmony here, and I started to see why a NYC Michelin
reviewer or James Beard House representative might have taken notice.
Then I tried the butternut squash soup and imagined a multi-gallon
vat of premade glop adorning a Portillo’s quick-service counter. It was thick like spackle and utterly devoid
of flavor, but for some crumbled cookies used as garnish. It was a vile bowl of food.
Two more pasta dishes failed to invoke any of the joy I felt
with the gnocchi. Orecchiette with rapini
and sausage were cooked pleasantly al dente, but the advertised broccoli puree
was either non-existent or flavorless. Neither
the rapini nor the sausage had much flavor either. It was the kind of bland, inoffensive dish
you’d expect to find at a place like this.
Nothing more. Worse yet were
ravioli, advertised as being stuffed with ricotta and herbs, then sauced with some
kind of lettuce pesto. The filling was
indeed green as if herbs had been used, but I tried really hard and failed to
taste anything beyond plain ricotta. The
pesto was a vile, separated mess of flavorless green oil in a massive pool, and
flavorless clumps of dry greenery with sliced almonds that hadn’t been
pulverized at all.
Fantoni hasn’t been at the helm here for too long, so there may
be some hope that he will influence the menu and execution in a positive
way. My confidence about that isn’t high
though, and after the dreadful soup and ravioli it’ll be a while before I try
again.
