3 /5 Shawn Rahman: Evening’s expedition led us to Scala Osteria, a most curious establishment whose prices appear to have been plucked directly from the imagination of a man unacquainted with restraint. Each dish paraded forth at a cost that suggested it might perform opera upon arrival. Alas, none sang.
Our cocktails, two in number and both equally confounding, bore more spirit in price than in content. I sipped, I pondered, and finally concluded that alchemy must have been attempted and abandoned halfway through. One even contained a small piece of foil, as if the bartender had mistaken alchemy for garnish. To their credit, the manager and waiter handled the matter with grace and promptly removed the drink from the bill, a noble gesture amidst the confusion.
The oysters, I concede, were delightful, though their excellence owed more to the ocean than to the kitchen. They arrived fresh, proud, and completely untarnished by human interference, a blessing, perhaps, in this setting.
The spaghetti, brave and earnest, alone redeemed the evening, though in a portion so meager I feared I might require a magnifying glass to properly admire it. A noble dish, tragically slain by its own modesty.
The ambience, however, was enchanting with the illusion of refinement. One might be lulled into believing the experience divine… until the bill arrived, stern and unamused.
Thus ended our night at Scala Osteria: a tale of charm and confusion, flavor and folly. I left both full of questions and yet mysteriously hungry, a Shakespearean tragedy in four courses.
