This town loves a comeback. Marion Barry. Newt. Grover Cleveland...
And now: Roberto Donna.
Behold Galileo III, a two-level temple of expense-account lunches and more discreet kinds of deal-closing dinners, now open downtown.
Why yes, that large man in the white coat is none other than the Italian who helped put DC dining on the map 25 years ago with Galileo and Laboratorio del Galileo, before losing a staring contest with the tax man.
If you’re here for business, claim a table on the regal-feeling second floor to treat your clients to Donna’s stock-in-trade: three-, four- or five-course tasting menus of spinach-ricotta agnolotti and rack of veal, along with one of 500 bottles from the all-Italian wine list.
But on those nights when pleasure is in order—say, tonight, and every night—we have a different strategy: take up a seat at the small, amber-colored bar and have the bartender (his name’s Chris) make you a Cin Cyn, a seemingly unholy combo of gin, vermouth and artichoke liqueur. From there, you can order from the bar menu, where you can sample Donna’s fare for little more than a Hamilton.
As usual, Donna has big plans. Within weeks, he plans to devote a corner of the dining room to resurrecting the culinary experimentation of the Laboratorio. By the end of the month, he’ll at least have a rotating selection of organ meats on the menu, like beef tongue and lamb’s brain.
Which we hear will make you smarter.
And now: Roberto Donna.
Behold Galileo III, a two-level temple of expense-account lunches and more discreet kinds of deal-closing dinners, now open downtown.
Why yes, that large man in the white coat is none other than the Italian who helped put DC dining on the map 25 years ago with Galileo and Laboratorio del Galileo, before losing a staring contest with the tax man.
If you’re here for business, claim a table on the regal-feeling second floor to treat your clients to Donna’s stock-in-trade: three-, four- or five-course tasting menus of spinach-ricotta agnolotti and rack of veal, along with one of 500 bottles from the all-Italian wine list.
But on those nights when pleasure is in order—say, tonight, and every night—we have a different strategy: take up a seat at the small, amber-colored bar and have the bartender (his name’s Chris) make you a Cin Cyn, a seemingly unholy combo of gin, vermouth and artichoke liqueur. From there, you can order from the bar menu, where you can sample Donna’s fare for little more than a Hamilton.
As usual, Donna has big plans. Within weeks, he plans to devote a corner of the dining room to resurrecting the culinary experimentation of the Laboratorio. By the end of the month, he’ll at least have a rotating selection of organ meats on the menu, like beef tongue and lamb’s brain.
Which we hear will make you smarter.
