Cibo is another example of a restaurant that left me a little underwhelmed at first, and then completely won me over on second and subsequent visits. The first visit featured a worthless $7 salad, a pizza that came over way too salty, and a fresh pasta with an incredibly comforting, uniquely-spiced ragu. The second night, the moment the inimitable roast/fried chicken landed on the table and I tapped its crisp skin with my finger, some kind of cosmic flash bulb went off and I was a changed man. I grokked the place. It really was that simple, and that fast. When the $14 hanger steak landed—a full plate, perfumed with hot rosemary, charred beef, and chipped potatoes—I submitted. Some appreciation of value and simplicity I’d learned at the knee of my grandfather set in, and this just seemed like Good Old Eatin’ Dinner, Before Ideas Came Along And Fucked With It.
Here are some shots from our visits, after the jump.
Looks like a cat puked on your pizza, Chris.
Why does all the prosciutto on the pizza look heart-shaped? Because nom nom nom.