Building Bricco – Boston

After extensive research, I find that the most effective approach to the proper assessment of the Italian restaurant is that of reading a chest x-ray. (Yes, I am on radiology). Surprising? Not really, when you realize that all foodies truly seek is a glimpse at the inner workings of a restaurant. Are we not all penetrators of the exterior and revealers of what lies beneath?

The initial step zero of reading any x-ray is the confirmation of the proper placement of tubes and lines. For starters, the Wellfleet Mussels are adequately placed bivalves, slightly overdone endotracheal tubes maybe just a hair too high above the carina but not enough to do any real harm. When placed in the garlicky sauce, it becomes obvious that both lungs inflate well, making this a fine dish, with a little room at the top.

The first official step is the assessment of the airway. The Eggplant Parmigiana Involuni were two patent, resume-paper-thin tubes with cartilaginous rings of fresh mozzarella and no visible rupture of the light breading; midline in a mediastinal pool of tangy marinera awesomeness. My dining companion hates eggplant about as much as men hate Foleys, but he gobbled this one up.

Step 2: the bones. The Lobster and King Crab Ravioli often form the backbone of high-end Italian. Bricco doesn’t skimp on the lobster or crab, and the ravioli are a tasty al dente. A little heavy on the salt, but grossly normal with no signs of osteopenia, in a reasonable-sized portion that I finished without feeling still hungry. Yum!

Steps 3 and 4 are the cardiac silhouette and diaphragm. Step 3 is the heart and soul of the meal in the form of the Gnocchetti alla Sorrentina, one of the pasta staples at the heart and soul of Italian cooking. This entrée shows no signs of cardiomegaly and none of the abrasiveness of pericarditis, but the mushy texture is irritating enough to be slight left ventricular hypertrophy, well-compensated by a perfect fresh tomato sauce, which is nicely curved like a clear costophrenic angle.

The desserts are lumped into the 5^th and final “everything else” category, and they are as vague as their category suggests. The Tiramisu and Chocolate Torte are as fully inflated as a normal right and left lung, but they are also as unremarkable and radiologically/educationally /diagnostically unexciting as a textbook normal chest x-ray. Unfortunately, a normal-appearing chest x-ray is not always good news – it can be disastrous when the patient has a pulmonary embolus, and the glorified cupcake and uninspired lump of cream are hardly up to par.

All these steps lead to an overall good restaurant with standard North End fare. I’m starting to believe that the Hanover restaurants are all interchangeable with the exception of Taranta. So despite the clear depiction of the eggplant and the overall adequate view provided by Bricco’s chest x-ray, the overall image quality leaves something to be desired. The mushy gnocchi are effective as ordering a chest x-ray to rule out MI, and the cop-out desserts are only a few steps short of ordering a chest x-ray as the first step of a suspected tension pneumothorax.