The Perils of “Open Ravioli”

Vermilion is a classy restaurant on King Street in Old Town—classy bordering on precious, that is. On Saturday night, our server informed us that the chef, Anthony Chittum, was going balls-out on menu innovations. The guy’s going to be introducing a brand new menu, like, every six weeks, full of grand new concoctions. Entree prices hover in the $20s.

When navigating the current menu, you might want to stay away from the “open ravioli” dish. On paper, at least, it’s a winner: “glazed peas, sheep’s milk ricotta & morels 3 ways.” There’s some edamame and other cool green stuff in there, too.

But the whole notion of “open ravioli,” I’ve decided, is a dog. I’ve polled some people in the office about it, and only one person claimed any familiarity. In Vermilion’s treatment, open ravioli is essentially two sheets of very thin pasta with the filling in between. The pasta doesn’t come together at any point, thus the “open” aspect.

So it doesn’t eat like ravioli. It eats like a crepe sandwich, or something along those lines. Like vegetarian rack of lamb or nonfat fettucine alfredo, open ravioli doesn’t make a lot of sense. Good thing is, it’ll likely be off the menu in no time flat, thanks to Chittum’s enterprise.

Hint: The joint’s bbq rockfish is a strong selection.