Issue #12/67, June 17 - July 1, 1999  

Our more pedantically neurotic readers will be pleased to note that this issue's reviewee (Pyrrhus), which exhibited an orthographic howler (Pirrus) in its printed logo last time out, has remedied the situation. Now that's what we call putting the "and" back in can-do management! Or something. Whatever the puzzling allusion to a fleetingly successful ancient general is supposed to mean, Pyrrhus is a moderately priced, more-or-less Italian place manned by an American chef-povar whose most recent Moscow gigs have included stints at the Beverly Hills casino and the Palace Hotel's Yakor'. That's not too shabby a start, so let's see what our boy can do.

We kicked things off with a glass of the Italian house wine (a decent Chianti for 104R; by the bottle you're looking at anywhere from $20 to over a $100, with a fair selection of respectable offerings in the $30-50 range) and a bottle of Heineken (I failed to jot the price on my crib sheet but it was, you know, reasonable). Our appetizers arrived in no time, a baked eggplant concoction smothered in a hearty tomato sauce and middling Carpaccio (both 234R). The latter boasted the unknown modifier Scottato, the meaning of which I'd be curious to discover had the dish been tastier. We boldly moved on to a second round of drinks and attempted to make amusing anagrams out of "Scottato" while awaiting the advent of our second courses. The helpful waiter (no doubt a highly treasured manservant in a former life) humbly offered "soot tact" while deftly performing that cover-the-cinders ashtray-removal maneuver that is de rigeure in Moscow, yet so often bungled. We chuckled audibly in sincere appreciation before returning to our neglected beverages.

Just as I was about to comment on the rich palindromic possibilities of Scottato and other such apparently Italianate words, my Andalusian Gazpacho (130R) was placed before me. I am extremely pleased to note this dish's burgeoning popularity this summer, and while Pyrrhus's rendering was not quite the finest of the three I've sampled in the past week, it was nevertheless a thoroughly pleasing--if only temporary--antidote to the recent hot spell, as any gazpacho worth its salt must be. I would be insulting my paternal grandmother's memory were I not to snobbishly mention that Pyrrhus's pastas were a tad uninspiring. There is something to be said, however, for the Fettucine Gorgonzola (234R), which my fellow eater (a self-described cheese fanatic) was not embarrassed to refer to as pure delight.

For somewhat selfish reasons, I'm loathe to dwell for any great length of time on the entrees. Fellow eater tried--and quite enjoyed --the Involtino di Pollo (364R), a creamy version of the classic chicken dish that betrayed ever so slightly the American influence in the kitchen. If I am curt in describing my Anatra al Porto (468R), it is because I have no tolerance for duck that is anything less than expertly prepared. The admittedly delicious port wine sauce was poor consolation for stodgy flesh and the unfittingly mushy "caramelized" onions.

Desserts are nothing special, but you can do a whole lot worse in this town than the Tiramisu (156R), a significant cut above other local middle-of-the-road takes on the ubiquitous Viennese treat. I also give middle-high marks to the coffee (52/78R for espresso and cappuccino, respectively). For the same price as the espresso you can try something called "southern" coffee, which I preferred to let remain a mystery.

A few words on atmosphere. As we dined there among the formidable classical columns, I could not help but contemplate the possibility that the recently introduced "Dorkadence" section in our clubbing section might soon be colonizing the rest of the ever-evolving Bar-Dak neighborhood. For some of us, of course, temperature is these days a matter of more immediate consequence. Pyrrhus's below-ground location and enviable ventilation system provide a mercifully cool setting in which to satisfy your basic human needs, no matter how impossible the weather becomes.

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