"Miramare" (Seaview) is definitely a fitting name for this hotel/restaurant just a stone-throw away from the Ligurian Sea, North-West of Italy for the geographically-challenged. Yes Italy!! You know me, right? I tend to avoid restaurants located inside hotels. They're often the refuge of frustrated culinary school instructors and washed up cruise-ship chefs, with their embalmed buffets and fancy ice-sculptures. To them cooking is all about swirls, fancy presentations and vertical arrangements. Most of the time they cook for hordes of stiff Germans, perplexed Asians and drunk Brits, so their food needs to be eye-catching and generic enough to please international palates! But my guests assure me Miramare restaurant/hotel in Chiavari, Italy, is bomb and I am inclined to trust them because they live within walking distance from this joint and know local food better than drunk Eskimos know yellow snow. Yes, tonight I'm eating with guests! So you can bet your meager paycheck that my Silver-ware will be visiting neighboring plates and dancing the sample-rumba. I have a feeling that tonight my stomach will be abused like a Harvey Weinstein intern! The sun is setting and the sky is red like a blushing Scotsman painted by Van Gogh. As faces are shaven inside homes, bars and restaurants begin to open like night flowers (descriptive literature is one of my specialties.. where is my Pulitzer?). After an appetite-building stroll along the promenade, we arrive at Miramare, literally across the street from the beach. Faster than it takes a housewife to whip out a coupon, we are seated and menued. A quick look around and I realize that the tour-bus must have gotten lost 'cuz the joint is full of happy locals, eating and swapping ciaos. With my pillow-crusher comfortably seated, I study the menu and right away I know this is gonna be a wild night... fasten your seatbelts fellas! Without further ado (I forgot to pack the ados when I left LA) we order the house Fish Ravioli, Pansoti with Walnut Sauce, Trenette with Genoese Pesto, the grilled fish/seafood mix, peppery mussels stew, mixed fish-fry and three bottles of Vermentino... for emergencies! (for Pesto Genoese details please refer to my review of "Trattoria Settembrin"). Soon, large steamy platters are landing on our table, faster than pigeon droppings on a statue. Oh my! The beauty! The poetry! Jonathan Gold would unleash a wild barrage of adjectives on you, ranging from "piquant" to "nectarous"! I tell you, this food was meant to be eaten, like Kim Kardashian's ass was meant to be photographed! I start digging around feverishly but I soon realize I don't see the famous fish ravioli! So I inquire with the friendly waiter who points to the huge tray full of seafood: shrimps, mussels, clams, scampi and cuttlefish. With a quick stroke of the fork, he pushes a large scampi to the side, revealing a bed of home-made ravioli, buried beneath the gargantuan mountain of fresh seafood and soaking up the heavenly sauce! My jaw drops and my eyes open wide, like drawers of a burglarized dresser! They don't skimp on the good stuff here at Miramare! What followed, I now remember as a blur: delicate filled pasta and home-made noodles flying in my mouth, followed by crashing waves of chilled Vermentino and an avalanche of fish and seafood: shrimps, scampi, swordfish, cuttlefish and Branzino, a.k.a Mediterranean Sea Bass! The shrimps are succulent and much sweeter than their Socal cousins, the Swordfish and Branzino are melt-in-mouth outstanding! They taste like Mediterranean waves, Etruscan terracotta amphorae with a hint of brackish oar. Signor Silverini is officially in heaven! My choppers are working at full speed at this point, like a typewriter on acid. As my vision becomes blurry with tears of joy, I vaguely remember a cup of gelato, strong espresso and a shot of Sambuca. Obviously, this food orgy happened a lot faster than it sounds, I'm am just creating a literary slow-motion, so you get the picture. You're welcome! The seaside promenade welcomes us back for a digestive stroll. With shaky legs and my belt loosened a couple of notches, I stammer about, face slapped by a cool sea-breeze. Suddenly my foggy thought-maker is pervaded by a sudden realization... You don't make up hundreds of years of culinary gap in just a couple generations! I appreciate the efforts of Batali and the Bastianich impostors, but - sorry - Italy is still on another level! read more

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