Out & About #1019 | 7 Enoteca (Round 3)

​7 Enoteca is my one-pick destination for celebrating occasions of value. Thus far, every visit has been memorable and delicious, albeit not exactly budget-friendly.

The booking was conducted through Resy, an up-and-coming platform rivalling OpenTable. While there isn't a loyalty program in place, I do enjoy the automatic addition of calendar placeholders, assuming that one's login credentials use the same Gmail account as the calendar layer of choice.

​The choice was neither opposed nor advocated by my browsing partner, though the date of the make-up celebration itself had spurred heavy disagreement.

​In preparation for our 7 PM Sunday evening reservation, I'd suggest leaving at 6:30 PM. Needless to say, I was characteristically a few minutes late, and consequently four minutes late to the restaurant. The lack of street parking also hadn't defended my case. "(Your lack of punctuality) needs to be addressed." my browsing partner had warned.

I debuted my strappy boohoo LBD, received many years ago as a mistake but fit shockingly well. The halter neckline and backless attributes had posed some difficulty with regard to undergarment and overcoat choice, though adding thinner, black straps underneath had meshed surprisingly well and was, consequently, well-received.

From our eventually acquired street parking space on Robinson Street just west of Thomas Street, we began the trek towards Oakville Town Square.

​Families with young children had taken to frolicking on the field, while older visitors merely lounged about in the provided lawn chairs. Lining the north edge were patio tables associated with our restaurant of choice.
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The check-in table that had once been positioned just beyond the entrance had been re-configured exclusively for patio supplies, causing the hostess to beckon us inward for reservation-checking procedures.

"Oh it's pretty loud." I commented with regard to noise levels within the indoor seating area.
"Don't worry - I'm going to seat you in a quieter spot!" The hostess articulated with a beaming smile. "I also see that you're celebrating a birthday! Happy Birthday!"
"Thank you!" came my delighted reply.

We were seated at a two-seater with spacious fabric chairs, delineated from adjacent tables with curved concrete pillars for visual separation. Mind you - the facility was nonetheless deafening. Conversations of the neighbouring table could be rather clearly; raising one's voice was pivotal to being heard over the resounding voices in the near and distant proximity.

Menus encased within a red, patent leather booklet were placed before us, along with a smaller booklet featuring the wine selection. Having ordered Pizzaville just a few days prior, I was hardly keen for another round of zza. My browsing partner and I deliberated between various combinations of appetizers and entrées before finally settling on two appetizers, mains of pasta and fish (me), and dessert to finish.

​A glass of white wine would assume my beverage choice of the evening. The waitress, an older lady with intense eyelash extensions, dismissed my query for tasting profiles of the 2020 Villa Canestrari "Tanbe" and 2022 Fortulla "Serpentino" and instead suggested the latter with a firm "I like this one".
"All of our wines are sweet." She declared.
This tidbit brought about dismay, for my preference lies with drier profiles with minimal sweetness. "Which wine(s) are drier?" I proceeded to ask.
"They're all dry." came the blunt response, followed by a muffled "There's no Riesling."
Frankly, I was more acquainted with Riesling than Sauvignon Blanc, which usually varies in complexity and flavour payoff. In the end, it was the 2022 Fortulla "Serpentino" that was chosen. Unlike the waitress from my last visit, ID was not requested of me. This came as a source of awe, for the waitress' regular utterances of "dear" indicated she was aware of my relatively "young" age. Consistent with the Petit Chamblis, the partially-filled glass was priced at twenty-five dollars.

My browsing partner opted for sparkling water. As opposed to the bottle of chilled San Pellegrino brought to our table last time, we were presented with a room temperature flask of Naturizzato. The fluid within was barely carbonated and lacked freshness, hardly constituting our idea of sparkling water.

​Interestingly, a bottle of the lukewarm fluid was spotted adorning nearly every table in the proximity. Behind us, a hextet of young females dressed to a monochromatic theme slowly settled into their table, ordering cocktails and sharing plates in place of sparkling water and mains.

"Do you want a salad?" I had looked up in bewilderment at the unexpected prompt from across the table. After overcoming the initial astonishment, I wholeheartedly nodded in affirmation. The exchange added Insalata Verde to our order list, for we were unable to come to a similar conclusion with regard to olives or kale Caesar.

Dressing for the salad was not permitted on the side, with the reason being that the greens would become dry and hard to mix afterwards. Our waitress firmly assured me that the herby vinaigrette was delicious. And, while I had my reservations, it indeed was. The vinaigrette lightly coated each leaf without overwhelming them. Furthermore, the choice of sturdy greens and a soft goat cheese made for a lovely mouthfeel with contrasting components of crunchy and creamy. Only 2 slices of Granny Smith apple would be found erected in the well of the seashell-themed ceramic plate, one on each side of the salad. This inclusion was peculiarly warm and not very fresh, thus additional slices would not be appreciated anyway.​

​My browsing partner's choice of Grilled Tiger Shrimp came shell-in and accompanied with a grilled lemon. Of the six pieces arranged onto the platter, I reached for no more than one for the sheer purpose of sampling. The shellfish had been cooked splendidly, allowing for retention of a supple, crunchy consistency without any fishy odours whatsoever. The shells could be removed easily with a fork and knife, though this didn't prevent unintended splatters across the table. Personally, the grilled lemon left the strongest impression: there was plenty of zestiness mixed with char for depth and character.

View the full album HERE !

​Yearning for a fish dish, I had debated between the Grilled Orata and Halibut, ultimately confirming my selection when the Halibut was relayed to be baked. Crispy grilled skin was my priority, thus Grilled Orata proved fitting. The menu listed two prices beside the item: $30 for a Half portion and $56 for a Full. Without knowledge of its size and delectability, I had erred on the side of caution.
When the dish emerged, I was admittedly taken back by its compactness. As with the Grilled Tiger Shrimp, it was escorted by the same coal-tinted lemon along with a mildly spicy relish. My knife eagerly made its way over to the lower third of the fillet, slicing into remarkably supple flesh encased within two unbelievably crispy surfaces. The comprehensively thin, flat cross-section had enabled uniform doneness along its length, in addition to effortless permeation of acidity and savouriness from the accompanying condiments.

​I immediately declared the Grilled Orata as the best dish of the evening - the entire half portion could be easily consumed by myself alone! My browsing partner had other opinions, and strictly concluded the dish to be "just fish" and moved on to praise the Grilled Tiger Shrimp instead.

​Tagliatelle al Ragu's description likely bore the greatest resemblance to the HK café classic of Beef Bolognese Spaghetti. Frankly, I couldn't believe the requester hadn't tired of the pairing given consumption two days prior. Another splendid choice, the comparatively sophisticated Italian edition utilized braised beef cheek in place of ground beef bits and substituted ketchup with the nation's beloved San Marzano tomato. Noteworthy were the textured treads of tagliatelle: It could be described as the ideal pasta consistency, embodying bite without veering into rigid territory. Tagliatelle was a breed entirely dissimilar to the starchy spaghetti of Phoenix Restaurant, though it suffices to say that each noodle has its place in the culinary world.

The braised cheek ragu was a tad gamey, but boasted a substantial presence. Unlike Eataly, the morsels were obviously beef (not minced bits of unknown meat) and included in a generous portion. Gently clinging to the pasta, one was able to enjoy both elements in harmony, or separately if desired.

Again, my browsing partner found the dish purely average, even daring to express an absence of uniqueness - a "kick" that was later interpreted to be the tanginess of acidic tomato, and often supplied by the use of ketchup for Cantonese-style Bolognese.

​The dessert spread would consist of Tiramisu for myself and a Lemon Tart for the frequenter of Chinese cuisine before me.

​My second tasting of the dessert simply confirmed the renowned Italian classic's most coveted qualities: an airy, velvety mascarpone mousse filling, thoroughly saturated sponge (coffee sable) for a luxurious sensation, and a lovely, bitter cocoa to top. Presented in a ceramic cup, the treat was not very sweet, but nevertheless substantial and indulgent.
In retrieving a spoonful of the centremost portion of the cake, my browsing partner grimaced. Tiramisu had apparently lacked the desired  "denseness", replacing it instead with "mushiness". I begged to disagree, of course, and continued to appreciate the alternating layers of gustatory indulgence.

​Off the menu was a Lemon Curd Tart, which would replace the identically-priced Torta al Limone (Lemon Ricotta Cake). Chaperoning elements of Crème anglaise and Ontario strawberries would be kept consistent with the Torta description, although did not succeed in elevating the composition. Looser and paler than the typical custard sauce, the crème anglaise edged into Chantilly cream territory, supplying one-dimensional sweetness without volume. The strawberry compote was also disheartening, tasting of wilted strawberries and bearing the appearance of sad, forgotten fruit. The lack in zing and freshness led me to conclude rhubarb as the more suited contender.

On the other hand, the lemon curd was positively enchanting with silky, delicate, and tangy properties. The formula was fragile enough to be damaged with the light touch of a spoon, yet somehow preserved its shape within the tart shell. The pastry exterior wasn't very deep, nor was it uniform. The bottom was exceptionally thin, while its edges thick and sturdy. Under pressure, the fluted circumference would shatter audibly and send its neighbouring piece of crust flying across the plate.

​In spite of the hostess having wished me "Happy Birthday", neither dessert had arrived with a celebratory candle nor message/song. I was somewhat disappointed by the humble display, though wasn't about to notify the waitress given that closing time was nearing and customers were gradually being eased out.

​One could also observe distinctly defined roles of hostess, meal runners, and waitress. The latter was seemingly the most senior, which equated to greater interactions with guests at a less sincere level.

Cleanliness levels were variable during this visit, as it has also been over the past trip. The bathroom floor was damp and slippery at our time of arrival, though gradually dried over the course of the evening. The menus weren't spotless; neither was the table. Plate edges were usually clean, with undersides free of grease.

​With our departure, I fondly gazed back at the restaurant, recapping the meal and its scrumptiousness. 7 Enoteca was indeed a wonderful choice that never fails to deliver.

I proposed a brief walk about the neighbourhood to appease feelings of satiation. Besides earning myself a second opportunity to review retail options, the saunter entailed discoveries of themed motorcycle riders - Olaf and My Melody! - and that The Mochi Girls had been replaced by a claw machine establishment.