Harry’s Bar…
You cannot really come to Venice without paying a visit to Harry’s Bar. Founded in 1931 by Giuseppe Cipriani, it is one of those places that has long since crossed the line from bar to institution. Famous for inventing both the Bellini and Carpaccio, it has drawn an illustrious roll call of past patrons, from Hemingway to Orson Welles. Declared a national landmark, it trades on classic cocktails, simple Italian food and a patina of history, though its reputation today is mixed, with some suggesting it leans rather heavily on its storied past.
Having made a reservation several weeks earlier, I arrived genuinely curious to discover what all the fuss was about. For somewhere so iconic, reviews are surprisingly divided, and there is no menu available online, which only added to the intrigue.
Entering from a quiet side street, the first thing that strikes you is just how small and how crowded the place really is. The bar area was busy with people drinking and talking, while some available table were occupied by diners. I was soon ushered into a corner and seated at a generously sized table for one, which turned out to be an excellent vantage point. From there, I had a clear view across the room and the theatre of the dining space beyond.
The clientele was an international mix, though my attention was repeatedly drawn to a group of Americans in the far corner, loud, as Americans abroad so often are. Service, however, was impeccable, swift, polished and unfailingly polite, with waiters immaculately dressed in traditional uniform. At one point, it felt as though there were almost as many staff as guests.
I began with the octopus salad. It was perfectly pleasant, though visually uninspiring, rather like something I might have thrown together as a student. I had expected the octopus to be neatly sliced, but it arrived largely chopped up. My main course, scampi Thermidor, bore little resemblance to the classic dish I know, though I will admit it was very tasty.
A glass of Bellini, a small carafe of house white, and then, rather swiftly, the bil was presented . Eye-wateringly expensive and, if I’m honest, hugely overrated for what was essentially a bar meal. One can’t help but feel that Harry’s Bar survives today more on legend than substance. I suspect Hemingway, were he able, might turn in his grave at the prices now being charged in his old haunt.