Rao’sWaiting Game
The original Rao’s in New York’s East Harlem, which has been in the same family for more than 100 years, is a notoriously tough reservation. It seats about 50, and since many longtime regulars have standing reservations, even the high and mighty, the rich and powerful, the famous who are famous only for being famous, find it as difficult to get a table as you and I would, bucky.
And then a second, 250-seat Rao’s opened last winter at Caesars Palace. Finally, it’ll be easy to get in, right?
Not so much.
Because I keep a low profile, I don’t reserve in my own name, which means that my reservation-getting experience will be about the same as yours. And, well, it took me (actually, my husband at first, and later a friend) about four tries to get into Rao’s. On a weeknight.
I was a little suspicious at first; was this a sign of the New York 5:30-or-9:30 syndrome (in which restaurants hold the tables during prime dining hours for walk-ins)? No, we learned when we were able to get a reservation two weeks out; the place is just busy. As we waited to be seated, we watched as party after party without reservations were turned away because they didn’t want to eat in the bar.
So, the question arises: Is it worth it?
Mostly yes, although my dinner partner said she thought the place is overrated.
Our Rao’s is designed to evoke the cozy interior and bright-red facade of the original, and the space has been divided creatively, so that the cozy feel is there. There’s outdoor seating and also large operable windows in the room that faces the patio; on the evening of our visit they were opened to the breezes that wafted in most pleasantly.
But service and food were far less consistent. Fettucine alla bolognese ($24), the classic meat-sauced pasta, was excellent, the fettucine al dente, the sauce rich and meaty in the old-world way, but just light enough (read: not greasy) for modern tastes.
A similarly classic Insalata Caprese ($14) was slices of grassy (that’s a good thing) buffalo mozzarella with thick slices of ripe tomato and plenty of fresh basil. With the balsamic vinegar offered by our server, the picture was complete.
Uncle Vincent’s Famous Lemon Chicken ($24) was quite nice — very lemony, not sweet, the chicken on the bone but hacked into chunks to make it easier to eat.
The ricotta cheesecake ($11) we had for dessert was something I’d gladly eat over and over again, not that my doctor would approve. It was dense, it was rich, it was delicately flavored.
On the other hand —
A starter of Vongole Oreganata ($14) had great potential but was ruined by the kitchen. These truly little littleneck clams had been cloaked in a garlic-and-butter-infused crumb topping. One problem: The clams were baked so long that they were transformed into tough little nubs of rubber. Even the crumb topping was burned on top, and thoroughly dried out. If I’d been dining off-duty I would’ve sent it back. This dish never should have been allowed to leave the kitchen.
We also ordered a side of meatballs ($12), because Rao’s is famous for them. We were served two meatballs — two big, almost softball-sized meatballs. The marinara in which they rested was excellent, deeply steeped and soulful, and the meatballs themselves had subtle seasoning that was haunting in its complexity. But — and I say this knowing there are people who would walk on hot coals for these meatballs — meatballs this big can’t be anything but dry, and these were. Maybe the hot-coalers like dry meatballs but I don’t, the laudable sauce notwithstanding.
And a sort of mystery: We were served a generously sized basket of good, crusty Italian bread, but no butter, although there were butter knives on our bread-and-butter plates. We shrugged and reached for the olive oil that was on the table, only to find that it was not very fruity, and therefore not very interesting with the bread.
Service throughout was spotty, with our waiter — pleasant enough, and capable — disappearing for long stretches. Only a couple of things really bothered me, though. One was when I was refilling my glass from our bottle of a 2004 Sicilian syrah, Spadafora Monreale ($48, and with an odd soapy off-taste, though that was what I get for experimenting, and not the fault of the restaurant) because he had been MIA, when he suddenly appeared and snatched it out of my hand with nary a fare-thee-well.
And then as we neared the end of our dinner he cleared our dessert plate and we sat and waited for the check. And sat. And sat, until I managed to send up a flare.
Another chef once told me that he noticed that while in New York, dinner occupies an entire evening, but here, his customers want to get in and out.
Maybe if Rao’s turned those tables a little faster, reservations would be easier to get. At least in Las Vegas.
Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.