It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t an ardent recommendation. It was a mere meeting close by, and the inviting allure of Fritto Misto’s menu that beckoned me into a culinary narrative I hadn’t scripted for the day. And isn’t that the spirit of dining out? The unexpected, the hopeful promise of a flavorful journey?
First impressions - service had an edge, a kind of “been there, seen that” kind of energy, but it did its job. And let’s be clear; this isn’t about silver linings. Fritto Misto doesn’t need them. Its story is told through its food.
Let’s talk about that Cajun Seared Chicken. Picture this: chicken tenders that flirt with the idea of being spicy but never truly commit, merged harmoniously with red bell pepper fettuccini, a swirl of garlic cream, and a final touch of green onions. Was it revolutionary? No. Was it comforting, though? Undeniably so. I found myself pining for the bolder Atomic Pasta, if only for that hinted chipotle chili cream. Note to self and to fellow spice chasers: go Atomic or go home.
Perhaps what caught me off-guard was the pasta. It was an ode to perfection, each strand manifesting a textbook definition of al dente. Ah, and a little birdie (read: the website long after I’d dined there) whispered about a whole wheat noodle option – something I’d have relished, had I known.
Fritto Misto may not have reinvented the wheel, but it didn’t have to. It’s that cozy nook you’d frequent on lazy evenings when cooking seems a Herculean task. If my compass ever sways to Santa Monica, Culver City, or Hermosa Beach, and my soul craves that simple Italian touch, you know where I’d be. For its sincere efforts and homely allure, I raise my fork (3 out of 5, to be precise) to Fritto Misto.
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