By David Minsky
By Nicole Danna
By Sara Ventiera
By Candace West
By Emily Dabau
By Doug Fairall
By Candace West
By Laine Doss
If you're thinking about opening (a) an Italian restaurant or (b) a steak house, you'd better come up with an original idea. These days we're so overrun with both kinds of eateries that neither is appealing, either to the restaurant critics who have to describe them or to the dining public who has to frequent them. Not many people I know suggest going out for Italian food or a steak anymore, simply because it's a given that you can score a plate of pasta or a piece of red meat just about anywhere.
Enter Timpano Italian Chophouse, an Italian-oriented steak house located on East Las Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale, where two tired trends have been combined to elevate dinner to new heights. At least that's the intention. The décor is stereotypical steak house, with dark woods, white linens, and wrought iron chandeliers turned down so low the bartender has to give you a penlight to read the drinks menu. The fare, on the other hand, treads the line between Italia and the stockyards. But while it has potential, Timpano at present fails to make good on either the starch or the beef.
If you analyze the six-week-old restaurant from an Italian point of view, you simply have to wonder why the calamari fritti appetizer was served with sweetish cocktail sauce as well as quartered lemons. I know the cocktail sauce is billed on the menu, but we'd forgotten all about it in the interim between ordering and eating. What's more, the eatery is so dimly lighted that the cocktail sauce was easily mistaken for the more customary marinara. Thus our taste buds were shocked. While the squid was tender, the batter was slick with grease and lacking in savor, needing the marinara to spice it up.
450 E. Las Olas Blvd.
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33301
Category: Bars and Clubs
Region: Fort Lauderdale
If you look at the place from a steak house point of view, however, the cocktail sauce, which also accompanies the shrimp cocktail, makes sense. As does "the wedge," a salad. The wedge is pretty much as it sounds -- a section of iceberg lettuce surrounded by chopped tomatoes and topped with crumbled blue cheese. Red-wine vinaigrette, when it mixed with the cheese, turned a creamy pink. This was a tasty if not particularly challenging starter for the kitchen to prepare.
Other appetite teasers seemed to elude the staff, however. For one thing the kitchen has a problem with pacing. Our fried mozzarella, a plate of three hefty discs placed on a puddle of somewhat salty marinara, was spat out so quickly that the cheese hadn't been given time to melt through. Some sections of the crumb-coated cheese were warm and melty, others stiff like string cheese.
On another starter we suspected prepreparation. The pasta dishes, which can be had as half orders, sounded intriguing, and it took us a while to settle on a dish of noodles topped with pan-roasted vegetables and dressed with porcini mushroom broth. Unfortunately the kitchen had run out of this dish that evening, so when the waitress returned to tell us so, we went with our second choice, gigantoni with chicken, mushrooms, and pesto-cream sauce. No sooner had the words left our lips than the dish showed up; clearly the gigantoni, which were long, wide, and curly like lasagna noodles, had not been boiled just for us. The chicken, shaved in patchy strips, was pleasingly tender, but the pesto-cream sauce contained way too much salt and was lukewarm and congealed.
Incidentally, half orders of pasta are not half price. The full order of gigantoni runs $12.95, but a half order is $9.95. This discrepancy in prices suggests a restaurant selling technique that I particularly dislike and that Timpano apparently practices. Certain "extras" cost extra, yet the server obfuscates that fact. An illustration:
Guest One: "I'll have the bone-in Delmonico."
Perky Server: "Would you like that al forno or al balsamico?" She then explained that the first was a paste comprising Parmesan cheese and garlic that crowned the steak, and that the second was a honey-vinegar glaze. She never did mention, however, that both styles cost another buck on top of the initial price, or even that just plain grilling was available for no additional fee. In the end we chose al forno, which flat out ruined what could have been a thoroughly enjoyable steak. The al forno topping was so salty and overpowering it rendered the entire piece of meat as inedible as a tire (albeit one that had just run over 30 cloves of garlic).
Guest Two: "I'd like the veal saltimbocca."
Perky Server: "Which potatoes would you like with that?"
Guest Two: "Which ones are there?"
Perky Server: "Mashed with roasted garlic or mashed with Gorgonzola." Of course not a word about the spud side dishes being $4.50 each. Now, granted, all these fees are written on the menu, so misrepresentation isn't a legal issue here. It's just unethical, like a clothing salesperson not mentioning that the outfit is actually sold as separates. (If you want to be really outraged, order the fresh fish of the day "garlic & scampi" style -- that's an extra $4 for a little vampire-proofing and a shrimp or two.)