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Stunning views
steal breath. The night glitters with magic— the dark sky kisses the reflective
water, twinkling, and the fall air drifts in, circling the high ceilings of Battello in Jersey City.
It is the
perfect setting to be seduced. Open widows and glass let the still outside in.
Vaulting rafters allow whispers to vanish, evaporate into intimacy and stay
warm in the ear. Dotted Edison bulbs dangle just right, like tangible stars.
The menu speaks
of a different kind of intimacy. A repetition of ingredients guarantees a
closeness of flavors and feelings. The variety is pleasant, but the theme is to
elevate: to inspire with the insipid. Many menu items seem done to the point of
overdone; Battello wants to prove otherwise.
The Shipwrecked
cocktail is a sweet note amongst its bitter companions, fresh with strawberries
and savory with vibrant basil.
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A doughty
crabcake sits on a bed of electric green slimy seaweed and capped with thick
fennel. Each layer plays to the one beneath it, matching stringy texture,
layering salt, fish and fresh.
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Smoky octopus, blackened with grill marks and
effort, is brightened with green olive tapenade, briny and rough. The saltiness
is soaked up by heavy grilled potatoes, creating a balance verging on
innocuous.
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Added salt
brings out the disguised sweetness of the autumn squash and the tender too
cooked short rib dispersed through the curled edges of cavatelli. A monotonous
blandness that weighs the dish down, flat-lining something that was destined
for deliciousness.
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Pillowy gnocchi
bathe in Bolognese pronged with spicy sausage and tangy acidic tomato. The
browned pasta melts in the mouth, leaving fat chunks of crumbly sausage and not
enough feeling.
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A four-bite
braised short rib stands tall on a slab of smooth mashed potatoes and silky
greens. The juices are sweet like fall fruits left with time, instant age for
the fatty meat.
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Two delicate
pancetta wrapped scallops sit triumphantly on red quinoa gravel, briny with
green olives and sweet with gems raisins. Decorative pretty puffs of toasted
almond supply another level of earthiness to the quinoa, highlighting the
sweetness of the scallop.
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Dessert is a
trio singing sweet songs with a melody too saccharine for honeyed ears. Almond
ice cream lays thick on crunchy layers of cold granola, nuts, and the bluest of
blueberries to make a tiny parfait. But bitterness invades with a round of dark
chocolate gelato, towering chocolate mousse and a soft rectangle of dense
brownie. A sole praline profiterole, salty and sweet, paired with a tart
macerated strawberry, finish the group.
The airy atmosphere
breeds romance—dim lighting, refined rustic notes, and glass, lots of
glass. Though luscious textures
and refined ingredients are the language of the food at the eatery, a little
piece of love is missing in some of the dishes, leaving them soulless.
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