Palazzio

Palazzio
1026 State Street
Santa Barbara
564-1985
Lunch
11:30 a.m. - 3:00 p.m. daily
Dinner
5:30 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. Sunday - Thursday
5:30 p.m. - midnight Friday and Saturday



Resting on their Laurels

High Points:
Palazzio has had a long and distinguished career—and a unique, hand-painted ceiling. According to their website, former President Ronald Reagan had their Tiramisu delivered to his Los Angeles Presidential office. By my reckoning, that sums up Palazzio’s heyday. And they did rack up several reader’s choice awards from local media polls throughout the nineties and the wee hours of this century—but haven’t been bestowed any of these honors since 2002, also according to their website.

However, the place is regularly packed and the yeasty, garlic rolls still rise like the tide. They do have a following though—diners who are of the “more is better” persuasion. At their own admission, Palazzio’s portions are large (can you say super duper size me?) and “people don’t leave hungry.” No joke—if the lo-carb revolution is really over, this is the place to celebrate. It simply comes down to quantity versus quality—while some may be into the bounty of salad bowls-sized servings of pasta and self-serve wine, I am not. Attempting moderation, we opted for a half order of Caesar salad ($6.95), followed by the Appetizer Platter ($12.95) and Capellini with Chicken Meatballs ($12.95, half order).

The salad was flat, over-lemony and while it may have raw egg in the dressing as a touch of authenticity, it really needed a dash of anchovy to give it some zing. The lettuce was tough and felt as if it has been mass-produced—there was no delicacy to it. At the restaurant’s urging, diners are invited to order their dishes anyway that they like—so I swapped the Capellini for Fusilli and added broccoli. (The later was left off, but the kitchen was quick to throw some watery green florets on top.) The best, albeit richest, item on the appetizer plate was the bowl of Spinach & Artichoke Dip served with crostini. The plate also included Baked Stuffed Mushroom Caps, which were passable and Insalata Caprese—see below. The pasta was a disappointment—overcooked and the only flavor that I could discern were the red-hot chili flakes. The chicken meatballs were good, but had a lot of filler. My dining companion commented that they seem to cover up the food with a lot of butter and cream—duly noted.

Another day, I dined alone for lunch and had the quarter order of Oven Roasted Rosemary Chicken ($9.25)—I can’t imagine how many chickens go into a full order. It was the best dish that I had a Palazzio—oodles of minced garlic and rosemary were tucked under the chicken skin and it came with some flavorful potatoes, just a little soggy, as well as some steamed veggies. And I did try the Tiramisu—it was enough for two, but more refined then most of the items that they offer.


Low Points:
As I struggled to use my fork to cut through a small, hard Roma tomato, served alongside mozzarella and basil in the Caprese I became annoyed. At the height of summer in Santa Barbara, with a cornucopia of fresh, local, sun-ripened tomatoes available any day of the week, why was I being subjected to a mealy, pale tomato that had probably been hermetically sealed in plastic and shipped from South America six weeks ago? Where is the quality? Lost in the trough-like quantity, no doubt.

**1/2
$$-$$$

Couchez

Couchez
214 State Street
965-3585
Wednesday though Saturday from 5:30 p.m. to 2:00 a.m.


High Points
Club Couchez is a pretentious and feeble attempt at a more metropolitan concept, where patrons dine and lounge on oversize couches that are like beds, without covers of course. I’ve heard that an advertising slogan Couchez has used is along the lines of “where everyone ends up in bed.” Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean that everyone scores.

The sleek and shiny club cum restaurant pushes its design chops—Frank Gehry reportedly sketched the couches—and an attitude. However, it was as silent as a snowfall on my first visit. My companions and I were the only ones in the dimly lit space, save for what appeared to be off-duty employees coming by to say hi.

We were promptly “seated” though, in one of the six beds, gauzy curtains partitioning them, and an attentive waitress presented herself within seconds—a stark juxtaposition to the service that I experienced on another night. (See below.)

We fidgeted while negotiating with the white pillows—meant for leaning upon—ending up half sprawled, half seated.

Couchez was sadly out of many selections we wanted to try—the Abalone Steak, $?, and the Laetitia Cuvee NV, $35, for example. Instead of ordering a round of Suck and Blow cocktails, $5, (to give you an inkling of Couchez’s languaging), we ended up with a bottle of Oreana Blanc de Noirs, $40, chilled in a glowing ice bucket, which changed colors periodically.

We started with the Shrimp, Avocado and Lettuce Egg Rolls, $14, served with a smoky, organic soy sauce. I’m at fault for misreading the menu, but I thought that fresh spring rolls—the kind wrapped in rice paper and chock full of raw veggies—were imminent. Instead, we received greasy, everyday egg rolls filled with scant amounts of wilted lettuce, warm avocado (yuck) and shrimp. Who wants deep fried lettuce and avo anyway?

The Roasted Duck Crêpes $14, with autumn grape, rhubarb and ginger puree, were an improvement, but the tasty and relatively bountiful fowl (in comparison to the other overpriced small plates) needed a new dancing partner. There wasn’t anything else in the crêpe to offset the flavor or texture of the shredded meat—just a “lame duck” dip that didn’t match its description.

The best dish was the chopped Organic Chicken Breast, $26, with nutty nibs of ham and almond sprinkled on a frothy puddle of Yukon Gold mashed potatoes. But the buck stopped there.

Low Points
On my next trip in, I didn’t sample a thing, because after being seated by the pin stripe-clad host, a friend and I sat, for at least 35 minutes, and not one of the many staffers milling around bothered to take our order, let alone make eye contact.

So we left (the bouncer at the backdoor didn’t bother to acknowledge us either) perturbed at being so blatantly ignored, not only by the man who sat us, but by the other puffed-up management suits who strutted by our table, talking into their headsets, and then mingled with sweatshirt-wearing characters that at best, looked like K Fed.

Couchez was relatively empty that Friday night too. We arrived around10 p.m. and only one or two beds were occupied. We were given an open one in the back, as we clearly stated that we were there to eat and drink.

It felt like a reverse Ruth Reichl—the former New York Times restaurant critic who occasionally employed outrageous costumes to conceal her identity in order to see how the restaurants she was reviewing treated common customers—moment.

Instead of receiving service period, like any reasonable, paying patron is entitled to, I was snubbed for reasons beyond me. Perhaps if I had dressed in slinkier attire, like the Couchez dancers that darted in and out of the VIP lounge wearing not more than underwear, Couchez would have at least tried to sell me a drink. It was in the 30s that night though, and my flesh was going to stay covered up, even when I went to bed.

*
$$$-$$$$

Tip: While “in bed” guest must remove their shoes and tuck them into a cubby—so think easy on/easy off. I’d shy away from mini skirts too.

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