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Harry's Dolci
THIS SPACE is just not big enough to give adequate attention to the subject of eating in Venice, not because there are so many places to recommend, rather more because there are too many one should avoid. If I had to choose the best restau- rant in Venice, I don't say it would be Harry's Dolci, either; Da Fiore, La Fiaschetteria Toscana and Harry's Bar itself all deserve prior nomination (though a fuller, more considered list is being pre- pared for these pages at greater length and for a later date). But it's not perversi- ty that makes me choose Harry's Dolci now; partly, it's because I've just made my first visit there, and partly it's because it is so essentially, spectacularly Venetian.
I don't mean thereby the food, though it's true of that, too; but the feel, the aspect, the view. I suppose if I were in Venice just for one night, I might prefer to go to Harry's Bar, much sniffed at as an overpriced chichi den with vulgar tourist appeal by those who'd like to think they were in the know, but appreciated, if ill- afforded, by everyone else. But one feels enclosed there; at Harry's Dolci, on the Giudecca, one sits in front of that mes- merising chunk of water with the pinky sky- line of the Dorsoduro beyond. I think it's one of the most beautiful views in the world. And it has to be the best journey to any restaurant anywhere. At night, as you approach, sky and water seem to merge into the same vivid inkiness.
Harry's Dolci is reminiscent of Harry's, Bar, though it doesn't mimic it. If Harry's Bar looks like a particularly elegant version of a hotel bar without the hotel, then Harry's Dolci looks rather like the cast adrift bar of a particularly raffinato nautical club. This, of course, is altogether appro- priate in Venice. Walls are warm, shiny panelling and cool, shiny tiles, the carefully studied brown and white carried on over, perhaps too carefully, into the sepia-tinted prints that hang on them. Chairs and tables, low and squat, with a kind of solid elegance, are a deep and gleaming wood.
Because of its name, I had presumed Harry's Dolci to be a pasticceria with knobs on, and so, feeling that cakes are what Ital- ians, and especially Venetians, do least well, had never been quite keen enough to visit. I think that's how it started off life, but now it is a very proper restaurant. The idea, too, I believe, was to have an outpost of the Cipriani empire with a slightly younger appeal, though the atmosphere is not by any means raucously youthful, mere- ly elegantly informal — which is about as far as Italians go.
The last time I'd eaten in Harry's Bar I'd had the best black risotto I had ever had, so skilfully measured that the delicate creaminess of the rice was not lost in the rich pungency of the ink. I thought it would be the same here. Sadly, it wasn't. The rice was a bit too nutty, the liquor a bit too runny and it tasted as if the broth had been added too quickly; the whole did not cohere.
But to make up for that I had the most wonderful pasta I think I have almost ever had. Tagliarelle — tagliatelle by another name — alle Sarde might not sound promising. The sardines in question are dressed in that Venetian fashion, in saor, which started off as a way of preserving them with vinegar, oil, onions, pine nuts and raisins. The taste is both Roman and Moorish, and in the wrong hands can be horrific. Here, the shards of sardine were slight, the dressing delicate and perfectly melded with the sweet, eggy tangle of pasta. If you come here, you have to eat this.
The main courses ordered were both Harry's Bar stalwarts: liver sliced exquisitely thinly into velvety petals, with polenta (fabu- lous) and carpaccio, actually invented in that joint. To be honest, I prefer carpaccio in its ripped-off incarnation rather more: just the raw meat with maybe a few shards of parme- san or strewn with rocket leaves and a drib- ble of green oil; here it comes striated with its original accompaniment of mayonnaisey sauce, looking rather like a Jackson Pollock on the plate.
Puddings are mostly cakes, and are very much better than the usual Venetian fare. However, my favourite was not a cake but a yoghurt ice-cream, which comes with three bowls of intensely flavoured jam, propria produzione. You dollop an odd teaspoon of each at will and to taste.
With a couple of Bellini before, a bul- bous jugful of prosecco during, and a cou- ple of canarini (that digestion-aiding drink of an intact, peeled lemon rind infused in hot water) and some extraordinarily good grappa to end with, the bill came to some 200,000 lire. This, when we went, was equivalent to about £80 for a perfect evening.
Hany's Dolci, Fondamenta S. Eufemia 773, Giudecca; tel: 00 39 41 522 48 44.
Vaporetto stop: S. Eufemia on the 82 rosso.
Nigella Lawson
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