Adam & Eats: Bravo Italian Restaurant

Editor’s note: Adam Brandt is a graduate from the Cobra Kai School of Culinary Callousness, where he received their highest award, the Red Apron of Merciless Eating. Aside from eating and talking about eating, he makes pots, paintings, prints, books, photographs, and generally, a big mess. He has been the studio assistant at Mudpuppy Pottery for almost nine years and is attending a local university in a desperate attempt to earn a biology degree.

In thinking of what note to end the year on, I took into consideration the ever-growing group of readers who well, nag is a harsh word, so let’s say request instead. They request I write about some fine dining from time to time.

So, that’s what I’m doing this week. I’m taking a break from the dens of deep fat friers to eat at a place with table clothes that are made out of fabric and not plastic. I picked a place that has been avoiding me by being open at times that I am normally doing other things than eating.

Located in what was once a Pizza Hut, just on top of the hill from Central Mall, is Bravo Italian Restaurant. There is something strange about this place. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it is the metal chairs. Maybe it is the layout. Whatever it is, the place just can’t shake that Pizza Hut, faux-Italian cuisine vibe. It is like they are trying too hard.

Frank’s (in Van Buren) and Joe’s (just up the street from Bravo) are guilty of this as well. They pipe in Ol’ Blue Eyes and Dino like they are the only voices of Italian music. Drives me nuts.

Let me state for the record, before you start heating up the tar and plucking the chickens, I love the Rat Pack. I just think that playing Frank Sinatra on loop in an Italian restaurant is as cliché as playing the Beatles at an English Pub or Ravi Shankar at an Indian restaurant. It just comes across as cheesy.

Now as far as food goes, I am going to have to use a quote from an un-named source who is far smarter and prettier than I am, and who turned a phrase that summed up Bravo’s food perfectly. She said, “It’s slightly better than Olive Garden.”

And there you have it. It is not bad by any means, but neither is Olive Garden. The food tastes good, but so does mac-n-cheese and fish sticks, and I wouldn’t call that Italian food. As my Grandmother used to say, just because you stick feathers up your butt, it doesn’t make you a chicken.

Granted, Bravo is way closer to authentic Italian than the commercial chain restaurants. I’ll give them that. But like I said before, the food is not bad, but it left a little to be desired. For example, the chicken Fettuccine Alfredo lacked umph. The meat was not seasoned well, and I got a couple of bites of gristle, which is a big no no. On the other hand, the pasta was cooked wonderfully. Despite, the gristle, the problems were nothing that a little salt and pepper couldn’t cure.

The lasagna seemed to be over powered by the wine in the sauce. You lost the savory flavor of the meat and ended up with a sort of tangy lasagna. It wasn’t bad, but just not the flavor I had expected when I took a bite. (Imagine the taste of lasagna. It was not that.)

The best part of the meal was probably the rosemary infused bread. Little cubes of fresh made bread with an air of rosemary about them. They were perfectly crispy on the outside and moist and tender on the inside. They are excellent for mopping up the leftover sauce on your plate.

Overall, Bravo’s isn’t bad. It isn’t great either, but it is slightly better than Olive Garden. This was not the way I had intended on ending the year here on The City Wire. But, hey, when life gives you a whole jug of Gallo Bros., make lasagna.

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Adam also has this thing called Sandwich Control.