Mr. B and I got dinner at Giulia one Saturday night a few weeks ago, before heading to a comedy show in Cambridge. The comedy show was actually incidental because I made the reservation for Giulia about two months prior. That’s what you have to do to get a table on a Saturday night at Giulia.
I’m probably already giving you the wrong impression. Because Giulia isn’t fancy, exactly, or exclusive or snooty. It’s a cozy neighborhood Italian restaurant with a range of house made pastas and yummy specials. It manages to be chic, but warm, with a tiny bustling bar and a slew of unique cocktails that feature Italian bitters.
If I’m being honest, my heart isn’t in it to tell you a whole lot about Giulia. It was a solid experience full of hearty flavors. Every dish was tasty. I’d happily return, if the opportunity arose (though less so if it consistently requires months of forethought).
Although I liked it a lot, for some reason, I couldn’t immediately get up the gusto to write about Giulia. And then I went traveling. And now, two weeks and three countries later, I’d rather share my travel stories and pictures with you.
And there’s this other thing… Mr. B and I already have a favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant. Even though we no longer live in its neighborhood, that restaurant is embedded in the foundation of our relationship. It’s where we spent Valentine’s Days and anniversaries. It’s even where he proposed, outside on the sidewalk with onlookers clapping as they peered down from apartment windows.
We spent much of our meal at Giulia comparing the two restaurants, which is, quite frankly, unfair.
I do distinctly recall my favorite item – my dessert. It was an olive oil cake with two kinds of apples (some fragrant and cinnamon stewed; some crisp lemony matchsticks) and a dollop of lightly sweetened whipped cream. They made a lovely ending to the meal, and a sufficient end to this halfhearted post.
1682 Massachusetts Avenue
Rating: 12 sheets of hand rolled pasta