10345 Jasper Avenue 780-421-4622
Bree’s Selection
As we approached we could not help but notice Corso 32 was situated below Penthouse Massage. Interesting. Despite holding reservations for 10:00 pm (Corso 32 appears to encourage late night dining) we had to wait twenty minutes to be seated during which time Dave seriously considered ducking upstairs for a quick “massage”. This ten to twelve table restaurant was dimly lit which is why we noticed the cool light fixtures first. There was also an illustration of a pig on the wall with its various sections labeled. Yum? Awkward? A bit of both. We certainly didn’t need to know that prosciutto comes from a pig’s butt. The menu was simple: we started with antipasti. Bree had prosciutto with baked cheese and egg on it. It tasted like breakfast! Angela selected the arugula salad. Dave had pasta stuffed with ricotta and egg yolk on the side which was runny and yucky in his opinion. Of the three, Bree’s was best. Before we move on to the main course, let’s talk about our cold waitress… all business there! We didn’t even bother to learn her name. Ok, back to the food. Bree tucked into gnocchi with wild wild boar. Angela is not nearly vegan so she sucked back half a hen (like a champ) with wicked shaved zucchini/lemon mint sprinkled on top. Dave’s house made ravioli with brown butter and chopped asparagus was delicious. Our three way cage match didn’t decide whose entrée was the best so we’ll give them a tie. There were only three desserts on the menu so we ordered them all. Angela chose the chocolate torta which was super rich but she did enjoy the salty hazelnuts (also like a champ). Bree had vanilla panna cotta with Okanagan fruit. “It was a light, refreshing end to her meal,” says Angela Zawada, Bree’s unofficial spokeswoman. Dave’s dessert won the night. It was morsels of deep fried fluffy batter with a hint of lemoncello in the center of each. So good! The atmosphere was great. The food was superb. But the best part of the evening was the “stimulating” conversation. Sorry non-dinner clubbers, can’t repeat it here. We are pinky sworn to secrecy. Insert elitist laugh here… bah ha ha – ahem.
