If you’re wondering whether Mystic Grove’s obsession with “heritage” extends beyond its psychics, charm shops, and “energy cleansing workshops,” allow me to direct your attention to Trattoria Amorelli — the town’s self-proclaimed beacon of fine Italian dining.
Spoiler: it’s less “La Dolce Vita” and more “Death by Béchamel.”
The decor sets the tone immediately. The walls are lined with sepia-toned portraits of Mystic Grove’s founding families — dozens of grim, hollow-eyed ancestors staring down from their gilded frames with the smugness of people who firmly believed oregano was witchcraft.
Every bite of soggy gnocchi feels like a personal affront to the town’s spectral upper crust. But then again, every forkful of overcooked salmon, pan-seared to the texture of a leather boot left in the sun, brings diners closer to joining the dead.
The menu promises “authentic rustic fare with intuitive inspiration.” Translation: whatever Antonio felt like burning that day.
Chef Antonio Amorelli — sharp-cheeked, grimly professional, and visibly unimpressed by my presence — made a point of telling me that he doesn’t comp meals for influencers. And he said the word “influencers” like he was spitting out a bad clam.
The waitress (brisk) and the bartender (bored) treated me with the enthusiasm usually reserved for tax auditors and exes at weddings. Charming.
After an eternity of waiting, my “signature risotto” arrived lukewarm, the rice clumped into what I can only describe as a starchy monolith. The truffle oil, meant to elevate the dish, smelled like someone had bottled existential despair. I would have sent it back, but I suspect it would have returned to the kitchen, reincarnated as tomorrow’s “truffle-scented arancini.”
Trattoria Amorelli isn’t rustic. It isn’t romantic. It isn’t even reliably edible.
It’s a place where the ghosts stare, the salmon dries, the truffle oil weeps quietly into the carpet, and your only real chance of a spiritual awakening is praying the check arrives before your patience runs out.
If you’re passing through Mystic Grove and desperate for an unforgettable experience, stick to the ghost tours. At least there, when someone whispers in your ear, they usually have better timing than the kitchen.