Dimmi Dimmi

I am still not sure how my friend secured a reservation for six here on a Thursday night, but bless her for doing so. And happy birthday to her, as well. I must also add that it is hard to say how much I would have enjoyed the food if I hadn't been able to figure out that the guy at the table next to us was Jason Kipnis. He looked familiar, and I spent most of the first 15 minutes there ignoring everyone while racking my brain.

Before going, places like Dimmi Dimmi are relatively hard to know what to expect. It is highly rated, hard to acquire a reservation, and well-liked by the few people I know who have already been. But - and I won't go on another diatribe about this - it is Italian food in Chicago. Opinions vary widely, and reviews and ratings tend to be a much higher variance guide. If Stephanie Izard or the Hogsalt folks or one of the Michelin chefs opened another restaurant, you could generally take the early reviews, apply them to your personal experiences and understanding of these places, then figure out where you will stand.

As such, I went in as neutrally as one can, with high but limited expectations. And it's not often that I say this about places in Chicago that are lauded mostly for their pizza, but I was blown away.

The only tavern-style pizza that I have experienced in Chicago that is thinner was at Bungalow. This was better. It wasn't performatively thin, and it was still dominated by the flavors of the actual pizza, which were pepperoni for one and vodka and nduja for the other for us. It almost certainly helped that by the time the pizza arrived, my appreciation for the place was already growing rapidly.

I am not going to say much about the bread because it's bread, and everyone knows the hidden gems at pizza places in Chicago are the salads, so the Caesar played its role perfectly, but the hamachi was an incredibly pleasant surprise. It was sliced thin, seemingly well-cured, tasted fantastic with a squeeze or two of lemon, and it had a nice little kick from the chili oil.

After the hamachi and the pizza, I was already fully on board, so it's hard to say how honest an appreciation I had for the rest of the food, but it all seemed quite good to me. The orecchiette was recommended by the waiter, and I remember being glad he did so. I don't think the spicy vodka stuffed shells blew me away, but they were plenty good. The chicken in the chicken parm was well-cooked with a good crust, and the little side pesto pasta made for a nice addition.

I didn't try the salmon, partially because I was full and partially because I did not want to ruin my experience. You can scroll back up and look at the last photo in the gallery if you care for an explanation. I chose ignorance and bliss.

It has a charming interior with an Italian vibe, and the service was great, so it's worth going through the reservation bullshit to try to dine there. Though the hamachi is surely less appealing out of a styrofoam box, if you don't want to deal with said reservation bullshit - for which I would not blame you - try to find a seat at the bar or just order the pizza and pastas for pick-up. Even if a little worse that way, they'd be really fucking good.