A marriage built on cheese: Dinner at Volare

When the carnivore says, “Let’s get dressed up and go to Volare,” I know it’s going to be a magical dinner. The food, the wine list, the service. All, always five stars.

The only thing that really matches a dinner at Volare is another dinner at Volare.

I can’t really recommend Volare for vegans. But if you eat and LOVE cheese, this place rocks.

The carnivore and I agree on most things, hence a happy partnership going on twenty-four years. But good cheese has got to be one of the most powerful glues holding us together.

We can linger for twenty minutes over the cheese section at the grocery, making Wallace and Gromit references.

We have deep, emotion discussions on the merits of Roquefort versus Wensleydale and polite debates about the use of dried fruit and jalapeño in cheeses.

You have probably explained to us that cheese has tons of cholesterol and will clog our heart and arteries. I applaud your healthy decision to live without cheese, and thank you. That’s more for us.

Our recent Volare dinner started out, as it always does, with fresh bread and a dip of roasted garlic in oil. I’ve been advised to quit calling it “doo-dad sauce.” Even though I once asked Tybee Island chef John Hunter what he calls it, and he made up that name on the spot.

We always ask for seconds on the garlic spread. I haven’t yet worked up the courage to ask for thirds.

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Then we moved on to a dish of ricotta wrapped in roasted eggplant slices and dressed in tomato sauce drizzled with balsamic vinegar. Heaven.

We moved on to an entree of vodka raviolis served, as tradition dictates, with a creamy tomato sauce redolent of peas.

I challenge you to name a restaurant that takes more care with ingredients. Pastas are made in house. Veggies are not just farm to table, they come from the chef’s own farm.

I was shoveling in my ravioli and joked, “I betcha even the peas come from the chef’s farm.” Our server was passing, and said, “Yes, they do.”

Dessert was a shared bourbon sorbet with fresh blueberries. All home grown, homemade, of course.

You can book a table, but the bar is more exciting. Notice the castellated bottles. The views are Frankfurt Avenue out the window, and Venice via the mural.

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