Dish Osteria

“It feels like you’re not even in Pittsburgh,” remarked a woman at the table next to us. We looked at each other and nodded. The woman was right.

To be clear, we knew where we were. We do live here, after all. We drove here all by ourselves. Well, after we entered the address into GPS and did exactly as the voice instructed. Sometimes, though, when visiting an attraction, a museum exhibit, or, in this case, a restaurant, we’ll say that the experience “transports us”. 

In the case of a restaurant, owners and architects can put a lot of effort, through menu design, décor, and artwork, to set an ambiance that feels like a faraway place. But this was different. Because Dish Osteria is an Italian restaurant, Sicilian to be specific. And though it didn’t ‘feel like Pittsburgh’, it also didn’t feel like Sicily, or Italy at all. So where the heck were we?

It started before we entered. A few twists and turns off Carson st, and we’re on a side street in search of parking. The signs are for street cleaning only, nothing about permits. Outside the sun has sunk below the buildings but not yet set. The sky is a mix of blues and purples and pinks. It’s a warm evening, and neighbors are sitting on stoops as we pass. The only others walking are a smartly dressed couple turning the corner ahead of us. We know where they are going. There aren’t any shops around, there isn’t any foot traffic, other than to the restaurant on the corner. We follow them, around the corner and inside.

The décor is minimal, really. In front, a copper bar is framed by darkly stained wood shelving, the walls are brick and the ceiling is pressed tin. The dining room has, by my count, 8 tables, cream-colored walls with green wainscoting, and not a whole lot else. But the place, with lights dimmed low and tables full of happy conversation, is cozy and lively and sexy all at once.

We’re sat in the dining room and greeted with a smile and a tour of the menu. The wine list is Italian, and we order a glass of white from Sicily. Every seat is full, there’s energy and banter and camaraderie, yet the moment we turn toward each other it’s all gone. We easily retreat into our own dinner, into our own evening. You see, the thing about a place like this is, there’s noise, but it isn’t necessarily noisy. It’s a din, and rather than a nuisance, it can be a boon. A shield, if you will.

In a quieter, more subdued restaurant, with tables this close together, every spoken word is public, everyone is on stage. But here, the liveliness acts as a force field, offering shelter from the storm. So you can opt to lean in close, whisper into someone’s ear, or just sit back and speak up. Speak freely, if you choose. No one cares, no one’s listening, they’re all in their own cocoon.

Great also for a first date, because you found the place and now that you’re here you needn’t worry about neighboring diners overhearing your awkward conversation about where you grew up and if you have any brothers or sisters.

Any intrusions were welcome, by our server checking in, by the arrival of a bottle of Etna Rosso (side note: the Mt Etna region in Sicily is one of my personal favorites. It’s in Southern Italy, but the higher elevation coupled with volcanic soils lends it a different character than its neighbors. The best examples marry the elegance of Burgundy with a feral, almost raw meat quality, conjuring visions of either being raised with wolves in the forest or eating a plate of beef tartare in your backyard).

And oh yes, the food. Everything is good here, and many items stay on the menu for, I imagine, reasons relating to fear about what regular customers would do if they disappeared.

I, for one, am glad they’ve kept the grilled calamari, an all-too-rare item on menus these days. Most places opt for the sliced, battered and fried treatment, and reserve the grilled or sauteed preparation for an octopus appetizer. Here they do both, squid (calamari) and octopus, and I’ll take the simplicity of grilled calamari with a squeeze of lemon juice any day.

Someone in the kitchen cares, as is evident in the little things. Sides of spinach are sauteed just until wilted, not an oily clump of mush. Gnocchi are a marketer’s dream, actually pillowy soft like some ad copy might read.

Exactly what this all means vis-a-vis Pittsburgh versus Italy versus who-knows-where, I’ll just say this: If someone told me they were filming a movie in Pittsburgh, but the scene takes place in New York City’s west village, I’d tell them to film it at Dish.

Look folks, this is a popular restaurant, the food is great, and the dining room is small. They’re full every night until late. The staff is used to it. They are not gruff or arrogant about it, it just is what it is. Sometimes you’ll have to wait a bit for a table. Sometimes they can’t seat a walk in. The tables are close together and it’s a lively atmosphere. Just relax, settle in, and go with it. Welcome to New York.

In short: A popular, small, southern Italian restaurant with great food and a great vibe.

Go if: You like food

Don’t go if: You’re a large group without a reservation

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Your online concerns, addressed (they won't do it, but The Monster will):

"Food was great but they were unwilling to accommodate one extra person."

THREE STARS

So you ate there? And you saw the size of the place? Unwilling and unable are two different things. Perhaps we shouldn’t blame the business if we are unwilling to make a reservation for the actual number of people we plan to dine with.

"We arrived about 10 minutes before our 7:30pm reservation and were told it would be a couple of minutes until our table was ready. So we waited and watched while other parties of similar size arrived and were seated before us. Finally 20 minutes after our actual reservation time, we were shuffled off to our table without a word of apology. A simple "I'm sorry about the wait" would have been enough for us to stay and dine, but that did not occur. We chose to leave and dine elsewhere."

ONE STAR

You left after you got sat? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. You waited, and waited, for 20 minutes past your reservation time (that’s 1,200 seconds for those keeping score), then you finally got sat, and after all that waiting, you got up and left? How long did it take for you to drive somewhere else and get a table there? Was this a weekend night we’re talking about? Omg I’m so curious. So many questions.

Dish Osteria

128 S 17th St

South Side

https://dishosteria.com/