Out & About #923 | 7 Enoteca (Round 2)

Without vacation days, my long weekends admittedly feel a tad shorter. Reluctancy surfaces at the thought of all-day outings, for the combined effects of downtown in-office days and inability to request recovery time have caused further stinginess in schedule allocations.

A three-day period that had originally been allocated towards rest and tending to backlog was interrupted by an impromptu family dinner, as relatives were stopping by briefly for the weekend.

Dinner plans were up to my discretion, thus I proposed venturing to Downtown Oakville for a change of pace. 7 Enoteca was my chosen destination: it offered a refined atmosphere and authentic Italian fare that could be appreciated by those in presence. (No longer would I be required to endure complaints of the sleepy polar bear in terms of texture preference and more!)
Reservations could be made via Resy (no OpenTable), using one's Google account for sign in. Peak times of 6 PM - 7 PM were blocked off, though the slots could be secured by calling the restaurant directly. In order to secure the booking, 7 Enoteca required a credit card on file, along with billing address for pursuing the transaction. Any cancellations under twenty-four hours would be subject to a ninety-dollar no-show fee. In that regard, I would advise those looking to reserve to consider their schedule with care, being mindful of the advance notice policy.

​Weather was surprisingly cooperative on our date of visit. The same commentary would extend to traffic conditions: in just fourteen minutes, we had rounded the dreaded bend connecting 403 and QEW and found ourselves in the Downtown Oakville BIA. It was unthinkable that travel conditions spanned upwards of twenty minutes normally.

Parking, either an asphalt lot or designated street parking spots, did not entail fees on Sundays. Free parking was available Mondays to Saturdays after 6 PM.

​After securing our spot on Dunn Street, we trekked up towards Lakeshore. 7 Enoteca occupied a space overlooking the happenings of Oakville Town Square. Patio seating was available just beyond the restaurant, surrounding a lionhead fountain, with dimly-lit booth seating found within. While I had voted in favour of outdoor seating, weather-permitting, the remainder of the party expressed preference for the indoors. With the skies appearing ominously grey, I warily agreed to err on the side of caution.

​We arrived with at least ten minutes till our reservation and meandered over to the reception desk with utmost laxness. A middle-aged man served as the host for the evening, and verified my name on the record before guiding us inward.​

​One of four members of the party had declared a distinct aversion towards pizza whilst we inched westward, as if the concept of pizza was miles from Italian cuisine. Glancing about the space, at least one pizza graced each table. Moreover, a glorious, ember-filled pizza oven was positioned in the middle of the kitchen. If one was to try any dish off the menu, it'd likely be the signature wood-fired pizza.

​We were seated in at a rounded booth covered with red leather, neither springy nor sunken. The ambience was great for easing diners into a comforting mood, yet not ideal for reading the menu nor evaluating the food items delivered to the table. Vastly different were the levels of illumination between the patio and pillar-side dining area.

Upon being seated, a member of staff had brought a bottle of San Pellegrino to the table. He was older, bald, and clad in ankle-length pants and a grey knit sweater rather than the all-black ensembles cloaking the younger front line staff. Much to our dismay, the bottle was unchilled. Ice and lemon/lime wedges were to be requested separately.

A waitress with a beaming smile and flawless complexion introduced herself shortly afterwards, providing some sort of relief. The earlier team member had seemed to lack experience. I relayed my order of a glass of Petit Chablis, which immediately prompted ID verification.
"She's probably older than you!" chuckled one of my dining partners.
As I retrieved my driver's license and displayed it towards her, I was curious. "Am I actually older than you?"
A smile came my way; I had anticipated as such.

The others took to an off-the-menu Mocktail of orange juice, simple syrup, and ginger ale. Depicted to resemble a Shirley Temple sans cranberry juice, the group was severely let down by the minimally fizzy beverage that materialized instead. Its steep price of nine dollars per glass was another shocking aspect. At the very least, the paper straws resisted dissolution for the entire duration of our stay.

My own glass wasn't exactly economic either at twenty-five dollars a glass. The Petit Chablis was refreshing, but nowhere as rich and complex as Jack Rabbit. A cooler serving temperature would have also improved the gustatory experience, especially seeing as the dining floor grew quite warm over time and with other patrons seated in close proximity.

Our waitress noted the limited-time availability of Italian Fish Crudo. The cold appetizer would be comprised of seven pieces of sashimi grade yellowfin tuna marinated in olive oil and lemon in a traditional Italian method. As the pieces would remain intact, it was neither a tartare nor ceviche, but rather a straightforward submersion.

The Crudo was simple yet exquisite. At first glance, the dish seemed a tad plain for its twenty-two dollar price tag. The ingredients were straightforward: lemon, olive oil, finely diced (brunoised) shallots, and a generous sprinkle of capers, but the final product was undeniably greater than the sum of its components. Citrus assisted in freshening up the sashimi-grade tuna, while olive oil paired spectacularly with its relatively low fat content. Capers contributed a boost of umami, while the shallots - not at all pungent - were aromatic and infused wonderfully into the olive oil.

Deterred by darkness, the other members of the party had partially given up at deciphering the menu. Our waitress, Lindsey, was knowledgeable, exceptionally so, and was capable of providing concise, substantial answers in response to our jumble of inquiries.

A tablemate's desire for prosciutto eventually led to the Prosciutto di Parma, a shareable starter featuring many of the same ingredients as the restaurant's renowned Palermo pizza. Glistening slices of the cured ham were arranged about a rounded wooden serving board; in a shallow well was a meager portion of fig jam.
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While the prosciutto itself wasn't exactly memorable, the fig jam was scrumptious. Presentation of the condiment in a small depression had been a poor plating choice, for knives made it impossible to gather a smear-able portion. A separate jam dish would have been ideal, or at least provision of a small spoon to facilitate acquisition. "Crostini" had been listed as one of the elements of the appetizer, inciting images of dry, tasteless throat-scratching slices. Thankfully, we were served with traditional crostini, but wispy, savoury slivers harnessing a decent degree of volume for crunch.

​Slowly but surely, our other orders would trickle in gradually as dusk fell upon the world outside.

The Roasted Octopus, renamed from "Grilled", was spicier than I recalled but nevertheless tender and flavourful. Presentation was wonderful: accompanied by confit tomatoes of varying shades of warmth, sprinkled with parsley, and sauce piped in dollops along the entire surface area of the plate.

​The Carne Pizza was a great, shareable portion with laced with the fragrance of charred basil and topped with a single leaf of fresh basil. The pizza itself featured an impressively thin crust, which was then edged with speckles of crunchy, gratifying doughiness. It boasted contrasting but harmonious flavours, showcasing the freshness of San Marzano tomato. Spicy Salami had been swapped for a "Mild Salami" at our time of ordering, but appeared in the form of crumbled mild sausage instead of spotty sausage slices. That said, we were unbothered by this change.

For reasons beyond me, a 14 oz. New York Striploin was added to the roster. The sixty-dollar platter arrived pre-sliced with a dish of garlic butter - likely clarified, for it remained in a liquid state - and section of lemon. Hardly the appropriate companion, the garlic butter appeared to overwhelm the marinade of the meat rather than complement; personally, the condiment would be better allocated towards use on baguette for garlic bread. Evaluating the beef, it was nowhere as Noble, with many fatty and tendony segments.

​Sides of Rapini and Brussel Sprouts had been requested to accompany to meat.

At our time of ordering, we hadn't been informed that the rapini would come with chili peppers. The bald, grey sweater-donning man had surfaced again for delivery of this dish, and denied the fieriness of said peppers: "They are not spicy, but sweet." he insisted. Customary of the vegetable species, the rapini was bitter with a rigid exterior. Garlic was very much warranted to combat to its blandness and cold, choy sum-like properties.

Eventually, our table had switched out the rapini for a completely mild Grilled Ontario Asparagus instead. The stalks were ladled with olive oil and Fontina Fonduta, a not-too-pungent liquid cheese resembling cream sauce. Again, the serving had proved inferior to Noble.

The Brussel Sprouts presented a crunchy outer layer but horrifically oily inner layers. Far too greasy for our liking, we simply couldn't handle further ingestion of the golf ball-sized halves. Had smaller bulbs been used, they would have likely cooked more evenly, thus enhancing the texture. Be it Lonely Mouth or the Waterloo Brewing Taphouse, I declared better execution of the recently trending cabbage relative elsewhere. Furthermore, toasted almond slivers were an odd topping choice.

Most of our selection had adopted a generally heavy presence of olive oil. While fine at first, the slick texture and distinctive flavour grew tiresome with its recurring appearance. We embraced awareness of olive oil being a fundamental ingredient in Italian cuisine; while not surprised, we were unable to exude the same degree of appreciation.

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Concluding our meal were the Tiramisu and Rhubarb & Almond Torta. An Americano was also identified - black, but came with a single Turbinado sugar cube. The Lavazza brew was served in a cup and saucer set, just slightly larger than the typical espresso.

I had expected the Rhubarb & Almond Torta to be a flourless, almond-containing cake of sorts, given its title of "Torta" and association with Sunday Baking's Torta Caprese (extremely delicious, by the way).

The dessert materialized as a tart topped with rhubarb and accompanied with a pitcher of warm Crème Anglaise. At this point in the evening, we were essentially dining in the dark. It wasn't until the summoning of a phone flashlight that we observed distinctly different shades of rhubarb topping the tart and prominent specks of vanilla within the Crème Anglaise. Separation of the two was likely intentional, allowing guests to admire the handiwork of the tart surface before it was cloaked with a creamy, vanilla bean-speckled veil. Although, despite its obvious inclusion of vanilla bean, the overall profile of the crème was disappointing, for I could only discern granulated sugar with minimal essence of vanilla.

​On the other hand, the Torta was unexpected delicious. The tart crust was immaculate - perfectly buttery with a conspicuous snap to it. Rhubarb pieces had been baked till just softened, then cut to fit the mold size. Given the fruit's mushy, stringy consistency, the tart was difficult to portion out evenly while maintaining visual appeal.

Tiramisu was a timeless delicacy to which the entire party had extended optimism. Layers of sponge and cream were alternately placed within a round serving cup, then topped with cocoa powder to finish. A mocha sponge cake was pinpointed within the mixture, and offered impressive depth for a cake constituent, as flavours are usually made milder after baking. Alas, our general consensus was that the cream was too loose, thus gave off a slippery feeling of excessive richness. This Tiramisu was not our cup of tea.

​Bathrooms were situated between the two kitchen areas in the form of unisex stalls. Within each stall were both a toilet and urinal. Humid conditions were observed within, made evident by foggy mirrors by the sink. The curved ceiling was another structural element to be wary of, for one may hit one's head upon departure - just as with the low-hanging lamps in on dining floor.

​Our out-of-town guests commended me for the restaurant choice. 7 Enoteca had been a remarkable choice for authentic Italian fare and superb service in a memorable setting.

My sole words of warning: Make no mistake with the fee-affixed reservation fee.