Tucked away under the Mississippi River bridge down a weird little side street in Gretna is a gem of a restaurant space. Tony Mandina spent 40 years since building it out, tweaking it into something very nice. I was devastated to learn of its closing earlier this summer. We loved to go and sit in one of the front tables in the bar near where Tony and his wife Grace held court each evening. Lovely couple, lovely place.
Venezia, a longtime Mid-City institution, wasted no time snapping up the place. It’s no Tony Mandina’s, but it can satisfy the hordes of West Bank residents for whom the Tony Mandina’s departure left a meteor-like crater.
This move of Venezia meant we would go there since the original location was out of the question for us. It’s old and worn, and way too dark to attempt to drag Tom through it. But Food Show producer Patty is a big fan, so I have been curious, so curious that I ignored one of Tom’s cardinal rules: stay out of new restaurants… Even old ones in new locations.
I feel that rule to be outdated and I have added a caveat: in this world ruled by social media any restaurant that opens its doors without firing on all cylinders is asking for trouble.
In all fairness to Venezia, we should have thought a bit more about them and us than to go the first week. But I was just so curious. This report should not reflect badly on the restaurant. It was our personal experience, caused by my own bad choices, and a little dose of bad luck and timing.
We arrived after an arduous trip of 90 minutes, and we took the alternate route across the Huey P Long bridge. Had we not had so much invested by the time we arrived, we would have left. There was a crowd by 6pm, and people were spilling out everywhere.
I was disappointed to see that Venezia brought the dark with them, so it was essential that we didn’t have to walk too far. The space here is linear and it is a very large restaurant with several rooms. The bar is linear too, with a piano where in the Tony Mandina’s days we enjoyed listening to great music. I hope they will keep that.
The hostess stand is a few feet inside the door, but it is essential to walk around it to get to a table only feet away from the door. There was a table for two right behind the hostess stand, but a couple was there and we had to wait for them to leave. It seemed hard to believe, but the four tables in this bar section were split into two servers, allowing only two tables per server. As luck would have it, our two-top shared a server with a group of five ladies out for the evening. Wine and cocktails flowed, and it kept our server very busy.
With our situation we have to have food upon sitting to keep Tom occupied, and our server was busy opening wine bottles for the ladies. It was a while before she greeted us. So long, that I got up and asked a manager to put in an order of garlic bread. It still took forever for it to arrive, and it was at least fifteen minutes before the server even came to the table. She apologized profusely, which turned out to be her greatest skill.
I put in everything at one time knowing that was our only hope for this evening. I ordered pizza and a baked artichokes dish which seemed different and interesting. That was the thing on the entire menu that interested me the most. It was the only thing we didn’t get.
Teas and waters were finally delivered to the table. Garlic bread arrived after that. I tried to make it last as long as I could since I was beginning to suspect a very long evening. The garlic bread was two long slices and was perfectly fine but nothing more.
Our waitress seemed to spend an inordinately long time in the kitchen between visits to the ladies, who kept her busy with wine and cocktails. The garlic bread had run out and I was grateful to see a waitress who was not ours heading our way with a single dish. I breathed a sigh of relief thinking our artichokes were here. Sometime in her journey, I began to fear they would be delivered to the wrong table. When she stopped at the table next door and announced artichokes to the ladies, (who all looked puzzled) I knew those were our artichokes and I almost asked about it. But that seemed too rude, even as desperate as I was.
When our waitress finally arrived with our pizza, I asked if the artichokes had been delivered to the wrong table. She sheepishly admitted that they were. No offer to hustle some from the kitchen, just another effusive apology, before disappearing again.
The pizza was a large one, thank heaven, because instinctively I knew it would be our meal for the evening. I should have canceled the rest right then, but I knew this would be a one-and-done visit and I wanted to try more of the menu. When I ordered the pizza I marveled at the prices of the extra topping, which used to be $1 everywhere. These were $3 apiece. The pizza served its purpose. It was perfectly fine and again, nothing more than that, but I was grateful to have it.
After we had consumed the entire thing, Tom was ready to leave. And the food was likely to be a while more in coming. The other table with another server had already had several courses, including tableside Caesar salad, but I was worried about how long our entrees would be. Thankfully both arrived when I had really begun to sweat. Tom was no longer hungry, and neither was I.
I asked the waitress to bring to-go boxes and the check, hoping to keep Tom sitting just long enough to box it up. I did have a few bites of each just to taste it at the table. Tom had the Paneed Veal and Fettuccine Alfredo. I ordered the lasagna. Both were very large portions. Tom’s veal was too dark for my taste. It was a little chewy as well. Again, all of this was very ordinary.
The lasagna was a pleasant surprise in that it was not especially sweet. Again, very ordinary. Not bad, just ordinary.
Venezia played a key role in the story of Tom and me. I picked up a pizza there once, and it is the origin of the anniversary pizza gambit I continue to this day. I remember how dark the place was the first time I walked in for the pizza. I have been back once since then during COVID to pick up a pizza and some food.
I really wanted to start fresh with this legendary institution when it took over Tony Mandina’s. The evening was highly stressful (again, my fault, not theirs) and I should go back, at least to have those artichokes that sounded really good. But I doubt that I will. Not because I’m mad, but because even this brief visit reconfirmed my thoughts about it. I have no reason to believe that any of the other food I would get would be much different from the garlic bread (yes, you can tell a lot by that-see Commander’s) or the pizza or the two entrees. Venezia is an institution selling old-fashioned ordinary Italian food to an awful lot of people. We just don’t need to be some of them.
I will hold on to my memories of Tony Mandina’s, and save the 90-minute drive. But I am very happy that the void has been filled, and hopefully, not many people will notice the vast difference.
