Gnocchi of the Gods: Franco’s Ristorante, Bridgeport
I’ve never been knocked out by gnocchi, until last night. At Franco’s Ristorante in Bridgeport, I realized that all of the rolled potato pasta I’d had in the past were but prelude to the pinnacle achieved by this preparation, and that I had eaten these pale reflections of true Gnocchi as though in a restaurant darkly, unaware of how good such saucy spud balls could be.
So often, I find gnocchi to be pasty, gooey, and not bad in a Bohemian dumpling kind of way – but all heretofore existing gnocchi were nothing like the ethereal pillows served to me in a light marinara at Franco’s. Biting through them, there was only gentle resistance as teeth traversed the creamy though firm flesh of each tender button of tuber and flour, the quintessence of potato rolled into a ball. The sauce was suitably soft, so as not to weigh down the zero-gravity pasta clouds and hinder their ascent as they rose above the material world to become one with the Platonic Ideal of all gnocchi.
The veal was pretty good, too.
Franco’s Ristorante
300 W. 31st Street
(312) 225-9566
"Don't you ever underestimate the power of a female." Bootsy Collins