A Date With Riviera: Four Seasons Nile Plaza’s Italian Cuisine Experts
In this in-depth review, staff writer Farida El Shafie walks us through her gastronomical experience at the Four Seasons Nile Plaza’s Riviera.
Of course I was nervous about my date. Who wouldn’t be? But after a 30-second-flustered-fidget with gold-plated elevator buttons - followed by an unsolicited series of mirror checks - I landed on the third floor of the Four Seasons Nile Plaza, where the atmosphere broke through my mental fog like a golden ray of light. Armed with an assortment of mismatched stationery, an unassuming man who (I assume) is hoping to woo me, and work-induced hunger pangs, I was ready to tackle a night of contrived conversations interspersed with platefuls of Italian coastal cuisine - the star of the show.
Home to authentic Italian cuisine and a newly-designated witness (please make your way to the stand) to a budding love affair, Riviera calmed my nerves. The restaurant may be open daily for lunch and dinner, but I had scant free time to make my rendez-vous with a potential beau. Halting my date-inflicted mental olympics was an outpour of warm greetings followed by interiors that catapulted me atop Venetian shores.
“Sparkling or still?” A question that reverberated throughout the hollow depths of my soul; igniting a fuse to my dehydrated infatuation with the restaurant. Two sips of still water in, a menu embroiled itself with my hands and a 20-minute marathon dedicated to deciphering Italian semantics quickly followed suit. So many items by Chef Fabio, and yet, so little time. To Gamberi or not to Gamberi? A follow-up question that instigated a round of giggles from surrounding customers and resulted in an on-slew of crispy cut Insalatas, Bruschette, Veal Milanese, Asparagi Risotti and a plateful of Pici Paste. As we awaited the creamy concoctions, our eyes found themselves glued - much like a kitten to a laser dot - to the pastel walls and gold details saturating the restaurant. Vases brimming with a kaleidoscope of pasta shapes lined the floor to ceiling shelves as glass encased winery elegantly flooded the private dining area. An open kitchen sprawled an endless flurry of their chefs’ heartfelt smiles as chandeliers effortlessly glistened, reflecting the excitement-driven dispositions at hand. Intersecting my lucid dreaming was a freshly baked basketful of bread rolls. As I dipped that first bite into their vinaigrette mixture, the warm crunch flung me - ravenous tastebuds first - into an Italian summer movie montage. As Jimmy Fontana’s ‘Il Mando’ trickled its way into my psyche, our waiter for the day ushered in our antipasti. As he delicately plated the Insalata Di Gamberi and Bruschette, Fontano’s chorus echoed loud in my head. Finely cut vegetables enmeshed in bitefulls of sweet mango and lightly seared shrimp; our first order proved successful. An empty bowl later, it was time to try Riviera’s sourdough haven. Dipped in tomato spread and topped with buffalo mozzarella, their Bruschette reset my weakened palette and re-instilled my love for Italian delicacies. Whilst I couldn’t bear parting ways with the first course (did I mention this was a date and that I was later met with the unsettling realisation that I’d completely abandoned my conversation with him in pursuit of tomato paste?), I had to bid the plates farewell. Leaping to my rescue, however, was the Veal Milanese. Lightly breaded, the veal tore through my bereavement, delivering an antidote in the process. Coupled with their Asparagi Risotti and Pici Paste, the second course put my jeans’ endurance to the test. The creamy lemon butter sauce remedied an insatiable - home-made-pasta-induced - void I didn’t know I’d possessed until that very second. Drawing my evening to a blissful close was their desert menu. Tearing myself away from the basic girl urge to succumb to Tiramisu, I settled on the Cassata. An experimental blend of vanilla semifreddo, roasted nuts, candied orange and warm chocolate sauce, the Cassata served as the perfect end to a night of fine dining. Rekindling with my forgotten date (my sincerest apologies if you’re reading this), I dragged my journalistic baggage and headed home with an unshakable grin on my reddened face.
