Villa Mozart

Is being sycophantic always a bad thing? If one says yes to and approves of everything when it deserves to be affirmed and admired, is that necessarily negative? Tonight, at Villa Mozart, a charming Italian restaurant in Fairfax, Virginia on the top 100 list, I felt a bit uncritical, amateur, and over eager being so...unequivocally positive about both the food and service. But, if an amateur food critic's lunch was small, her line dancing class exhausting, her morning workout uncharacteristically and prematurely ambitious, and her dinner genuinely exquisite, it's ok to for her to rapturously savor each element of her dinner, right?

Tonight my friend Meredith and I went to Villa Mozart, a restaurant we noticed was painfully adorable as soon as we walked in the door. Situated in an endearingly rickety house in the heart of old Fairfax, nearly all the tables were empty; a beautiful blooming tulip and a charmingly-accented waiter, though, made the dining room cosy and intimate. He took our coats and put them behind a silver shower-curtain-veiled coat rack and we sat to admire the clean, bright dining area (those words are typically euphemisms to mean "old" in Lonely Planet's guide books but I mean it here).

We began with what our delightful waiter called "dangerous," beckoningly good bread sticks with four types of herbs in them. To me, they tasted like columns of olive oil miraculously held together with bread, which made them temptingly appetizing.

Our waiter recommended a light Pinot Noir from California and we began.

The menu is simple: a three-course meal for $39, which I consider to be a steal in DC. Additionally, the options for each segment--appetizer, pasta, and meat or dessert--were extremely diverse both in complexity and flavor. For the first time in recent history, I would have been happy choosing from nearly every item of the menu. But, since I'm predictable, I stuck with what I know and like: oxtail and pumpkin (not together).

The chef brought us an amuse-bouche--made even more charming because it seemed to be delivered with affection (maybe that's just because I was just so damn happy to be at a quiet restaurant with particularly exceptional service). The chef served a chickpea puree with thin strips of crispy speck. It tasted like sunshine or fresh breezes, and I hadn't even had that much wine yet.

For my antipasti, I chose the foie gras/oxtail terrine served atop a slice of toasted brioche with mushrooms on top. It had an exquisitely luxurious texture and taste and almost made me feel guilty for excessively indulging, like what I would imagine eating a stick of butter with chocolate drizzled on top or raptly following another entire season of The Bachelor would be like (except more delicious).

Meredith, my lovely dining companion, ordered Le Rose, a beautiful dish of rose-shaped pasta stuffed with butternut squash, leafed with sage and served with a sage sauce, and sprinkled with amaretti cookies. We both agreed that the filling was copious so became a bit heavy, but it did look beautiful.

I had the risotto zucca, which was served with wild board sausage, pumpkin chips, and a fig vincotto. The risotto itself was a bit sweet but cooked perfectly and the sausage was wintry and flavorful.

The real sycophantic behavior kicked in around dessert-time. Phrases like "yes, we're having such a lovely time eating" and "it was delicious" with elongated adjective sounds freely escaped from my mouth. I gesticulated and grinned and thanked profusely. The feebly professional amateur food critic facade crumbled.

For dessert, I ordered the chestnut souffle, a perfectly consistencied yet tiny wisp of sugar and fleeting solidity, served with an espresso cream, a caramelized chestnut, and pumpkin ice cream, which had the color but not flavor of pumpkin.

But by this time, my head couldn't help from continuously nodding in rapturous delight when the waiter asked if all was well.

Meredith, a blog sport permitting a food action shot, ordered the chocolate polenta, quite possibly the cleverest combination of chocolate and carbohydrates of which I am aware: it was smooth, crisp on top, and surprisingly made better with a light, creamy orange sauce. Is it possible for one small kitchen in Fairfax to emanate such exceptional goodness and universal verbal applause? Yes.