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Rating: 
Summary: WILD ABOUT HARRY'S
Review: Arrigo Cipriani knows how to dish. And he should because he's the second generation owner of Venice's famed watering hole for the well-to-do, Harry's Bar, as well as its offspring restaurant in New York City, Harry Cipriani. In 1931 Harry Pickering, an American friend of hotel bartender Giuseppe Cipriani, gave the delighted Venetian 40,000 lire to open a bistro. All Pickering wanted in return was the name - Harry's Bar. Cipriani the elder was enterprising and imaginative. He created the bellini, that blissful blend of peaches and Italian champagne, as well as carpaccio, thin slices of filet mignon served with white sauce. During the German occupation of Venice, Harry's Bar "was requisitioned by the fascists and turned into a mess hall for Mussolini's navy." Thumbing his nose at the invaders, Cipriani invited customers to dine in the privacy of his home. Soon after Allied amphibious vehicles crossed the Grand Canal, the elite followed, eager to eat and be eyed at Harry's Bar. When Ernest Hemingway smiled and ordered a "Montgomery," he meant the same proportion of gin to vermouth that the "British general preferred when he led his soldiers against the enemy - fifteen to one." On winter evenings in 1949 Hemingway ordered six bottles of a Verona wine before retiring to his room where he wrote all night. Next morning the empties would be found outside his door. Another habitue of Harry's Bar, Orson Welles, "was as big as an armoire" with an appetite to match. Lunch for "Citizen Kane"? Twin plates of shrimp sandwiches washed down with two bottles of Dom Perignon. Truman Capote always demanded the same waiter who selected food and drink for the bantam author. When his table wasn't waiting, Prince Rainier didn't wait either. He walked out, never to darken Harry's lamplit quay side door again. Aristotle Onassis charmed Maria Callas during walks between the restaurant and his private yacht. Other regulars were the Aga Khan with the begum by his side. Millionairess Barbara Hutton footed the bill for her then husband tennis player, Gottfried von Cramm, and their famished entourage of fifty. With the eye of an aesthete Arrigo Cipriani selects accoutrements for his restaurants. With the voice of a wry raconteur he tells his story. History is spiced with hi-jinks at Harry's Bar. Both are related warmly and well.
Rating:
Summary: WILD ABOUT HARRY'S
Review: Arrigo Cipriani knows how to dish. And he should because he's the second generation owner of Venice's famed watering hole for the well-to-do, Harry's Bar, as well as its offspring restaurant in New York City, Harry Cipriani. In 1931 Harry Pickering, an American friend of hotel bartender Giuseppe Cipriani, gave the delighted Venetian 40,000 lire to open a bistro. All Pickering wanted in return was the name - Harry's Bar. Cipriani the elder was enterprising and imaginative. He created the bellini, that blissful blend of peaches and Italian champagne, as well as carpaccio, thin slices of filet mignon served with white sauce. During the German occupation of Venice, Harry's Bar "was requisitioned by the fascists and turned into a mess hall for Mussolini's navy." Thumbing his nose at the invaders, Cipriani invited customers to dine in the privacy of his home. Soon after Allied amphibious vehicles crossed the Grand Canal, the elite followed, eager to eat and be eyed at Harry's Bar. When Ernest Hemingway smiled and ordered a "Montgomery," he meant the same proportion of gin to vermouth that the "British general preferred when he led his soldiers against the enemy - fifteen to one." On winter evenings in 1949 Hemingway ordered six bottles of a Verona wine before retiring to his room where he wrote all night. Next morning the empties would be found outside his door. Another habitue of Harry's Bar, Orson Welles, "was as big as an armoire" with an appetite to match. Lunch for "Citizen Kane"? Twin plates of shrimp sandwiches washed down with two bottles of Dom Perignon. Truman Capote always demanded the same waiter who selected food and drink for the bantam author. When his table wasn't waiting, Prince Rainier didn't wait either. He walked out, never to darken Harry's lamplit quay side door again. Aristotle Onassis charmed Maria Callas during walks between the restaurant and his private yacht. Other regulars were the Aga Khan with the begum by his side. Millionairess Barbara Hutton footed the bill for her then husband tennis player, Gottfried von Cramm, and their famished entourage of fifty. With the eye of an aesthete Arrigo Cipriani selects accoutrements for his restaurants. With the voice of a wry raconteur he tells his story. History is spiced with hi-jinks at Harry's Bar. Both are related warmly and well.
Rating:
Summary: Good service viewed as a calling
Review: It's hard to believe that its been almost a year since I was in Venice, enjoying a cocktail at Harry's Bar one evening before dinner. This book sheds some like on the history and reputation of the establishment. However, in spite of the title, this book isn't just about Harry's Bar. It also has characteristics of a memoir, describing the author's experiences both in Venice and in New York, where two related establishments have existed at various times. There are also traces of a gossip column in here as well, as the author describes some of the rich and famous that have patronized Harry's Bar over the years.
This is a pleasant read, if a little shallow in content. Perhaps the most interesting element of this book (at least for me, anyway) is the author's views on what constitutes quality service. It is interesting to read an insider's rant against the popular trends in the hospitality industry. I also enjoy the descriptions of Venice, as they provided me with a wonderful chance to reflect on the beauty of that city.
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