RESTAURANT REVIEW: Rosie Cannonball
I was thinking the other day about one of my favorite stand-up bits ever, Ricky Gervais talking about the world's greatest leaflet, that begins with "You know, you don't always have to..." (I'll let you look that up if you're unfamiliar, as it's extremely NSFW). And it got me thinking, "Adrian, you know, you don't always have to do a long rambling introduction that most people probably don't even finish reading before clicking out of the page." So let's just get into it.
Rosie Cannonball comes from Goodnight Hospitality, the group who brought us The Marigold Club and March (review coming soon!!), and is somewhat surprisingly the only Houston Italian restaurant listed in the Michelin guide (Bib Gourmand, if such things matter to you). It's located on the same block of Montrose as those other eateries, and features a dining room colored in earth tones with a semi-open kitchen showcasing a wood-burning pizza oven in the back corner. Service is cheerful and attentive; diners are offered a complimentary splash of Lambrusco to kick things off, poured from an oversized bottle, though sadly not a Nebuchadnezzar (the undisputed king of large format wine names).
Speaking of adult beverages, the cocktail menu is small but thoughtful, with five originals and four classics. Featuring rum, galliano, pineapple, and coconut, the cleverly-titled Montrose Mami was an extremely crushable take on a piña colada, with the smooth, sweet flavors of those iconic tropical fruits mellowing out the Caribbean spirit. Hard to beat that on a hot August night. Keeping with the sugarcane liquor theme was the Golden Ratio, much boozier with milk-washed rum, tamarind, and orange creating a sharp yet balanced sip, with sweet and sour notes. Presumably the sheesh is good as well, but I wouldn't know, as I only drink wine when there is literally nothing else available.
If you've read even a few of my reviews, you know I'm going to order something raw, and the Tuna Tartare did not disappoint. An impressive portion of the red-hued diced fish sat atop a vibrant paprika aioli and was served with carta di musica, a thin Sardinian flatbread which I had never heard of before. Literally translating to "music paper", they are allegedly so thin before cooking that one could apocryphally read sheet music off of them. That is a bit of an exaggeration, I must say, as I desperately yet unsuccessfully searched for the opening measures of Nessun Dorma or any other operatic works of note... but they did their culinary job well enough, allowing for a satisfactory scoop of the cold yellowfin. Some Meyer lemon added a hint of acidity to the party.
It's not often that I'll delve into an area of the menu that is titled "Vegetables", but the Roasted Corn was an exception, as it is more of a grain anyway (taxonomically I believe it's officially a grass, but that sounds rather unappetizing). A heaping mound of the plump yellow kernels were dressed with ajo blanco and Marcona almond salsa, a sort of elote-inspired (or I guess esquites-inspired, in this case) condiment, and overlaid with tons of ricotta salata crumbles. This was summer-y af, and I enjoyed one spoonful after another of the slightly spicy, slightly sweet mixture rounded out by the salty white cheese. Just a random thought that popped into my head since that was kind of a boring paragraph: I wonder if they would sell more of this dish if they called it Roasted KoЯn instead? I'm personally not a fan of the band (they're certainly no Limp Bizkit, who rule), but a nu metal-themed night on slower days of the week could be a good promotion. A free idea for the managers and owners who are surely reading this right now and wondering how they didn't think of that first.
We had to sample something from the pasta section, so we went with the Gnocchi Al Polpo. Lil Wayne said: "real G's move in silence like gnocchi" (I may be misquoting), and these little potato dumplings were as real as they come, though I suppose if we are being technical they aren't actually pasta, so maybe scratch that after all. They were lovely though, light and pillowy, accentuated by a fine tomato sauce and some preserved lemon. Hunks of chorizo added great salinity, but the star was the other title ingredient, which you already know by now if you speak Italian. I know we're not supposed to eat octopus anymore because one won an Oscar or whatever, but damn if they aren't delicious. The texture can be off-putting if not properly cooked, but fortunately here it was accepting of the fork in the way an exquisitely tender piece should be. Yum yum.
The main impetus for this dinner was to try a special limited-time collaboration with Loro, the tremendous Asian smokehouse from the folks behind Uchi and Franklin Barbecue. They all put their heads together and came up with a Pastrami Rendang Pizza topped with pork belly pastrami from Loro, the famous Malaysian curry, a drizzle of fish sauce caramel, and pickled cabbage. It's exceedingly rare to find a good pizza with no cheese, but it wasn't necessary on this one: there was so much flavor from the bark on the cubes of meat to the fragrant chilis, galangal, and lemongrass of the rendang, to the umami explosion of the nước mắm that there honestly wasn't much room left for curdled milk. I know you are all asking the same question: where does this fall on the crust thickness scale??? This was probably a 4, bordering on 3 with a tad more char than I prefer, though I did see other tables receive pizzas that seemed significantly thinner and another that was a bit on the thicker side, so there might be a bit of inconsistency amongst the pizzaioli in the kitchen. Regardless, this was awesome, and well worth the trip on a Thursday (I know, I really am a badass for going out on a weeknight).
For dessert was a Mint Gelato with caramelized cocoa nibs and dark chocolate swirl, simple except for the fact that this was the single biggest scoop of frozen dairy product I've ever had (even larger than the obnoxiously-named "Gotta Have It" size at Cold Stone Creamery which... still exists? Not sure), which is of course a positive thing. A bed of the tiny roasted bean fragments added some crunch, and the stripes of congealed chocolate syrup reminded me of the dearly departed Elro Pizza + Crudo, which had a similar sundae with maraschino ice cream blanketed in a coat of Magic Shell that was just spectacular. Sometimes less really is more.
As of press time, the Pastrami Rendang Pizza is still on the menu, so do yourself a favor and check it out before it's too late. Plus, every pizza sold benefits the Southern Smoke Foundation, so it's a win-win. And the rest of the food is nothing to slouch about either... I didn't even mention the "From The Fire" section of entrees, which sound excellent as well. If you're into Italian food, which seemingly everyone is more so than myself (except for pizza, no one is more into pizza than I am), this is a highly approachable yet top-quality option in central Houston.
RANKING UPDATE: Coming in I had Rosie Cannonball at #2 on the Best Italian section of my Houston Restaurant Guide, and despite some people (and the Michelin guide, apparently) telling me that they think it is superior to my top-ranked Coltivare, I respectfully disagree, and am keeping things the way they are for now.
NEXT UP: A weekend in the Windy City.