By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Michael Mark's Trattoria suffers first from horrible location. It's nestled in the ass end of the II Creeks Shopping Center in Richardson's Canyon Creek (an area not unfamiliar to stay-at-home moms). If the sandwich board isn't out on the sidewalk along Custer Parkway, the restaurant is easy to miss. If you find it, though, you'll be greeted by employees who offer sincerity and service that would make any hospitable homemaker proud. Lee would be pleased, though she probably wouldn't support the bowties on the wait staff, undone in an effort at creating a casual vibe, which comes across a little confusing.
Unfortunately for the trattoria, the service is the highlight of the dining experience. Once the orders are placed, betting folks might wager that cans are opened and bits are strained and maybe some vacuum-sealed packages are cut open. Judging solely by the tastes of the food, MMT's kitchen might well look more like a pantry and a kitchenette.
2701 Custer Parkway
Richardson, TX 75080
Region: Richardson & Vicinity
Spaghetti carbonara $10.95
Michael Mark pizza $12.99
Chicken cappazetti $16.95
Baked ziti de Trattoria $10.95
Double, double chocolate cake $5.95
Sangria $6 per glass
Chelsea's Tuscan nachos win the Least Likely to Contain Preservatives Award. Slightly sweet pasta chips were piled with sliced pepperoncinis, white beans, red onion, melted Gouda and Parmesan, marinara and a drizzle of pesto lacking enough basil. The flavor profile was pert and invigorating with credit going primarily to the pepperoncinis. The cheese wasn't heavy, and grease was minimal. The beans, however, proved a bit mealy and the pasta chips varied between satisfyingly crisp and too hard.
The artichoke dip was average. Lee might jazz it up with some crab or a few breadcrumbs. And enough with the pasta chips. If tables are using their store-bought bread to eat the dip, reserve the chips for the nachos and call it a day.
The crab cakes with "Italian" remoulade were easily mom-made. They were small with no discernible lumps of actual crabmeat, and while they appeared to be browned, they were actually quite soft to the tine. The remoulade was poured on in excess and there wasn't a thing Italian about it (if there was an anchovy or caper pureed into it, neither was evident).
The trattoria and Sandra Lee both use breadcrumbs to top their Italian mac and cheese, but the differences in the rest of their recipes is that Lee uses home kitchen staple Kraft Macaroni and Cheese while MMT uses what tastes like some sort of powder or canned cheese sauce to cover the shells and completely unnecessary chicken strips. It may in fact be some form of real cheese, but after 25 minutes the sauce at the bottom of the dish had the same consistency cold as it did when it was tongue-scaldingly hot. Very suspicious. Stay at home and go with Lee on this one.
The baked ziti de trattoria was Lee-inspired—no homemade sausage here. Thin marinara, with some canned tomatoes and bell peppers added, covered nicely al dente ziti.
Spaghetti carbonara proved to be a rich, over-sauced disaster. Ham cubes (think: salad bar) replaced traditional pancetta, and burnt bacon bits raised the salt level far beyond bearable. The sauce was called "Mona Lesa" sauce but was basic Alfredo, as parenthetically noted in the mix-and-match pasta and sauce area of the menu. After comparing take-home portions of the trattoria's carbonara to a Healthy Choice frozen chicken carbonara meal from the supermarket, two friends and I preferred the latter. Add some snap frozen peas and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano to that and you might have a less salty, more traditional flavor, Semi-Homemade-style.
The Michael Mark barbecue pizza compared unfavorably with incarnations from the freezer section or at Baker Bros. Of all pizza crust sins, the worst are soggy or undercooked dough. Thanks to a deluge of the barbecue sauce (these people love the ladle) that harkened back to that famed Masterpiece of KC, the crust was flaccid and still doughy in the center. There was no structure, no air, no crunch until the outer edge. The caramelized onions were vapid and dissolved without smokiness or sweetness. And then came the chicken slices. When two dining companions question the validity of the term "chicken breast" there's something very wrong happening. Now, the practice of tenderizing meat by pounding as opposed to marinating it is common, but when a piece of poultry flakes apart like particle board, one suspects the chicken breasts are not fresh from Sam the Butcher but shipped frozen from the reconstituted breast fillet plant. If the proprietors claim fresh whole chicken breasts, consider this a heart-felt suggestion for a new supplier.