By Sarah Carlson-McNally
On a dark and stormy night my partner and I traveled into the mountains to lust for snow in the midst of autumn over some slices and craft brews. Piecasso, an outdoorsman’s staple in Stowe Vt., specializes in hot slices for five dollars with one bottled beer included. Friends raved about the hot slice and cold beer combo after a day on the mountain. The quality of the meal all depends on what kind of dining experience you’re going in for.
Opening the door on the funky patio, tourists poured out and we weaseled our way up to the hostess. “It’s a 20 minute wait,” she said, so we opted for the crowded bar.
We wedged our way into the only two open seats. The bar bubbled with chatter as the two bartenders ran scattershot. “Can I get you guys some drinks?” she offered.
Sipping my beer I happily roasted in the aromas of the après ski lounge, allowing my eyes to peruse. Between customers bobbing about with their slices and stouts, sculptural paintings protruded out of brightly colored walls.
Garlic knots paired well with the ale. I plopped my first knot into a side of chunky marinara and quickly took the first bite. A greasy snack made better by an assortment of fresh, savory spices, but mozzarella hugged the doughy knot a little too tightly. Crispy at first bite, I felt myself wishing for something meltier to wallow in, and I continued wishing for more throughout the meal.
The restaurant stood still while I melted into the first bite of the soft veggie wedge. The onions released sweet gentle flavor while the basil took the lead in decadent simplicity. The garlic camouflaged itself amongst the veggie smorgasbord and surprised me with a crunchy bursts of fresh flavor.
The meal ended as my happy belly and I sunk heavily into the depths of the barstool. But the check, $65 with additional seven dollar tip, left my student wallet drained. The food may have hit the spot, the price didn’t match the meal.
On a crisp, cool afternoon a friend, very fond of the tiny town of Stowe, suggested a leisurely trip up to the mountains for a long dinner; Piecasso round two.
We opted for the chance to pick up a couple quick slices, and hoped to make ourselves comfortable at a table with beverages and some appetizers. But after being hurried away from the slice stand by a woman at the register, we thought the hostess might understand the casual meal we were looking for. When we requested slices and a seat, we got a funny look. It was clear that what we had in mind was not going to be accommodated.
The crisp mountain air eased our frustrations and encouraged us to sip our hoppy ales. We rubbed our hands together, eager to order our first treats. I worried as I watched a couple next to us immediately send their appetizers back to the kitchen.
After the long awaited return of our server, we placed our orders. When our server returned for the third time, I decided to finally hint at the lack of silverware on the table. She sauntered away unbothered as she remarked, “Yeah, you should have that.”
Spinach artichoke saved us from the never ending confusion. A fluffy dip disguised like thanksgiving mashed potatoes sat patiently next to carefully arranged slices of rustic hummus flatbread, begging to be dipped. The cloudlike dip went perfectly with our other choice.
While I picked my companion’s brain as to why no one understood our request for a couple wedges and a table, I noticed a couple next to us receive their pie, take a bite, and shake their heads in disappointment. As they asked for a box to go, our pizzas arrived.
The Picasso, a white base pie didn’t live up to its description. The mozzarella was overcooked and the ricotta spare. The sauce wouldn’t have been as disappointing if the toppings didn’t fall so flat. Fresh tomatoes and basil couldn’t make up for the lack of flavor. Where were the spices?
Perhaps it was the lack of helpful or tentative service that night, but the pies fell as flat as the accommodations. Signs read “Local’s Pick!” along a wall near the hostess stand, and it seems like it’s getting to Piecasso’s head.
The price doesn’t suit the overly-hyped local’s joint. If you’re going to request a server, expect a Stowe-priced meal.
Skip the sit down. Grab your slices, and if the bar screams “standing room only!”, head back to the hills for a more authentic experience.