The food at Dona Irene is exceptional. The caloric overload begins with a dizzying variety of appetizers, all of which were great. That’s about the best I can do by way of description. You can see some of the dishes in the picture below.
The highlight for me was the boiled eggs filled with tuna. Other folks seemed partial to the salmon. This marks the second time I’ve had caviar. Can’t say I’m a huge fan but it’s worth trying.
Next up was a tasty beet soup and pastel-like potato balls filled with ground beef. The latter was one of the best parts of the meal for me. I bet these would go down nicely with freezing cold (Russian?) beer.
Next came a couple of casseroles, one made with eggplant, the other with something that wasn’t eggplant. I’m not sure how many vodkas I’d had at this point, but my palette and most other parts of my body were markedly dulled by the time this course made its way to the table. Note that the pales of vodka that appear in many of the pictures were not placed there for effect – we were simply drinking way too much vodka!
As a side note, at this point none of us could imagine how we would eat another course (the main course) and dessert. With the help of a steady stream of ice-cold Russian spirits and the type of team resolve that develops spontaneously in crisis situations, we, of course, overcame the well documented “third course wall”.
The main course clearly deserved its billing. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I’m not particularly well-schooled in Russian cuisine and was losing what little was left of my mental faculties by the second. I remember beef and chicken.
Even the fried potatoes (Russian fries?) were to die for. The breaded chicken things (a loose translation of the dish’s genuine Russian name) were filled with Gorgonzola. Unbelievable.
The beef dish was tender and delicious. I think they also served chicken Kiev, but at this point I was distracted by a paranoia that my entire digestive track would rupture explosively, sullying this lovely restaurant, the other diners at the table and unwary wait staff (more pics of the place itself in an upcoming post).
After a brief respite filled with loud conversation and boisterous laughter, dessert was served. It was a bit anticlimactic, clearly suffering by comparison with the previous courses. I remember that most of it was made with ice cream.
Undeterred by our distended bellies, we cleaned the dessert plates in a single-digit number of minutes.
I’m fairly certain the coffee served at the end of the meal saved my life.
I’m not sure who then proposed that we down “one for the road” (saidera in Portuguese), but I shot video and if I find out, I will unleash upon them the pathetic fury of middle aged man nursing a mild hangover.
The proprietor (proprietress?) graciously accepted our accolades and applause, secretly hoping we would just leave if she simply smiled and said as little as possible. We did, arriving back home at around half past midnight or so.
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