New Year’s resolutions of the food and drink ilk are no match for the staff at Prosecco. Just ask my dining companion, who had sworn off drinking for January. Moments after we sat down at the table, a small, fruity pour of the restaurant’s namesake bubbly was presented to us; next, a sommelier was enthusiastically bringing over tastes. Soon our table was littered with glasses, each one with a shallow pool of red or bubbly at the bottom. But we’d yet to order a thing.
Prosecco the wine has a tendency to do that, to shake a person out of silly ideas like resolutions and diets. For a while it seemed that Prosecco the restaurant possessed those charms, too (my allegedly teetotaling friend was soon sticking her nose into a full glass of sangiovese). But as we drank less and ate more, the charm wavered. A trio of crudo from the carpaccio bar included caviar-topped white tuna boasting clean flavors and a cool salmon tartare that gave off a slight smokiness. But the third fish, an ahi tuna, was crusted in so much bitter lavender that it seemed to burn our tongues. Diver scallops stuffed with braised short rib suffered from a serious lack of punch, and while the stuffing in the Cornish game hen was delicious (porcini mushrooms and black truffles), the quail itself was a tough, bland disappointment. That left the rich, ricotta-enriched cavatelli to steal the show—which, paired as it was with toothsome shrimp, it absolutely would have; but a complimentary postdinner pour of sparkly, sweet Brachetto swept in and stole it instead.