Gianni: Decent Italian for A Change

I stood in the lobby of Gianni Kohvik on a Wednesday morning, looking like a tourist. It is my fist visit to Gianni. The breakfast has just ended and the lunch did not yet begin. So we are pretty much standing by ourselves at the lobby. Gianni is divided in two: there is a restaurant with white table-cloths and a wine aquarium, and on the other side a cafe. The interiors can easily give you an image of a poshy uptight Italian Restaurant. We wandered to the cafe, resting our eyes on the pastry showcase at the end of the counter. ”Bet they come from a bakery”, I pointed the macarons, quiches and cakes to my colleague accompanying me. 

Quite often the cafes simply don't have the room, not to speak of craftsmanship, to prepare a very wide variety of products. ”Do you think so?”, she asked. ”You'll see.”

Kuva: Gianni

Chef Constantino Veglianti arrives. To me he looks more like a German than an Italian restaurateur. Dark hair combed back and a pizza-pot belly are absent. He is given away though since the mouth is set for the usual Mediterrenean rapid-fire mode. Before we get to exchange names properly Chef Veglianti is geeting guests arriving through the sliding doors at the entrance: 

”Buongiorno! Come va?” The guests answer in German so Constatino goes on: ”Achso, wie geht's mein Freund? Alles gut? Wie schön zu hören!” Spoken like a true cosmopolitan.

Long story short

The cafe started under the name ”Fashion cafe” back in the day. I'm curious how things have changed since those days. ”First it was hard to get ingredients. I thought, when I came from Italy, that Estonia has a great variety of fish. The sea is so close from here. I thought we just go fishing But it didn't work like that. Some weeks you got the product you ordered, some weeks you didn't. It was hard to plan a menu if you can't be 100-percent sure you get the ingredients,” Constantino thinks back.

Gianni has been running for twelve years now. Constantino has been working there right from the start, although he made a small sidetrack along the way. Now he's been working in Gianni for six consequent years. That's an eternity by any standards used in the industry. One must have an extremely good employer and a passion for the work. Elen confirms that they literally have to chase him out every now and then to have a day-off: ”He's among the first to come in the morning and last to leave in the night.” 

But chef Veglianti has days'off. Well, sort of. During his sidetrack years Constantino found a restaurant in Berlin. Having a restaurant in a different country sets some obligations. While at it, Constantino fulfills his rites with wine. He is a wine enthusiast and goes around tastings to haul back certain small-batch treasures from Germany. This makes Gianni a peculiarity among restaurants since it is somewhat an oddity to have the chef involved in planning the carta de vinos.

Since four or five years ago the restaurant revolution started in Estonia. New places opened all the time and the standards got higher. Chef Veglianti points out Tchaikovsky and restaurant Moon as among his favorites. While Tchaikovsky represents the classic restaurant with some of the Old Guard manning the posts, Moon draws from the innovations of the younger generation and has established itself well within the culinary scene.

Kuva: Kristel Pentus

Service is the key

The sliding doors keep opening. By and by it becomes clear that chef Veglianti knows most of their customers at least by appearance. ”I look at the ticket in the kitchen and see: 'ha, this lady likes her pasta full-grain' or 'he's always asking to have it gluten free'”, Constantino says. I inquire whether they have a lot of regulars. ”Yes, yes. Many people come here to have breakfast, or lunch, and then come back in the evening for dinner. Sometimes we even keep the wine bottle they started at lunch-time for them when they come back later that day. We just put their name on the label.”

One of the core values cherished in Gianni is service. “We are very flexible with our guests. We want to personify the service.” Maybe they have done some things right 'cause people keep coming back. Chef Veglianti describes how even the guests know each other. “Often there are loud cross-table conversations or one of the regulars sitting here greeting all the other guests coming in”, Constantino motions at the corner table. I can imagine the elder gent with a bottle of Campari and a siphon set on the table. The image of a poshy Italian cafe is starting to crumble. What about the pastries in the showcase?

“Oh, the pastry chef works from Monday to Friday. She's very busy. For weekends we have to cover for her!”, Constantino exclaims. I stand corrected!

Thank you, excuse me and good bye!

Half-assed Chef.

Kuva: Gianni/Kristel Pentus

Haku - A piece of Japan in Narnia

When walking along Narva mnt. the sidewalk gets narrow after the Methodist church. You got to be careful. The passing cars shoot slush at you if you're not paying attention. At the same time you have to have your other eye looking for the right corner to turn. Behind the bigger gray building you find this cottage-like smaller structure. In front of it you wipe your shoes(!) and step in: you're in Haku.

If you arrived at dinner time you are approached by a blond-haired lady in a kimono. This is Marju Shiraishi and she is going to take care of you, answer your questions about the cuisine, the drinks and Japan. Trust me. She must be one of the few, if not the only one, in restaurant business who has a university degree to do all this.

Where fat sizzles and a knife goes ”chop-chop”, you find Shuichi Shiraishi. A ”licensed” Japanese chef. Licensed, because Shuichi worked in the Japan's embassy at Fidzi some years ago and there you need to be a licensed Japanese cuisine chef. He earned his laurels in different establishments around the globe, not least in a Michelin starred Bulgari hotel in Tokyo.

They are going to be the one's, (and the only ones, since Haku does not employ anybody else) making sure you enjoy yourself in a traditional Japanese milieu.

My visit took place on Monday when Haku is closed. It is the couples ”day-off” so Shuichi is only wearing his kitchen jacket without the apron. Marju sits in her ”office” at one of the dining-room tables. Small stand at the end of the table says ”reserved”.

Since the Silverspoon awards, Haku snaffled in 2017, Marju and Shuichi have had to change the door-check once a month. Especially the weekends are busy. This means the couple practically lives in the restaurant. Recently a Finnish magazine, writing about vacations in Estonia, published a long story of the Silverspoon winners. The word has it, many foodies, gastro-tourists and other hippies are lining-up in ferry terminals at summer to come participate in the Estonia's culinary hype. It just might be that Shuichi's and Marju's summer vacation is canceled.

I asked whether they have thought about hiring extra hands. Without thinking Shuichi said ”no”. After an elaborate explanation it was clear that the man takes much pride in his work.

”Becoming a sushi-chef in Japan takes minimum ten years”, explains Shuichi. It goes without saying that he doesn't rank the traditional western sushi-restaurants very high. The cooking school, in Japan, takes two years, but the restaurants are unwilling to hire people from school bench. Instead, an apprentice system is favored. You knock on the back door and ask if you can come to wash dishes. The story tells of the Emperor's chef in Japan who, before obtaining his position in the Emperor's court, had to beg behind a restaurant's back door for weeks before he was allowed to enter as a trainee.

The first year was difficult for Haku. The guests didn't find the restaurant. The couple insisted in not marketing their establishment, but instead, wanted to have the word go around. ”It is amazing how one week you have very few people. Then a reporter came to try our tataki. Next week everybody wanted to have the same,” laughed Marju.

Talking about trendy foods, what amazed Shuichi was the trendy drink kombucha, sold now in almost every respectable groceries store: ”It's a Japanese thing. First time I saw it, I thought it interesting to have it here. Should the Estonian people like it?” It turned out the ”kombucha” was not the drink made of seaweed kombu, what Shuichi had been used to. ”Why do they give these names for foods which they are not?”, asked chef Shiraishi.

Preciseness is a virtue held tight in Haku, Shuichi told me while attending the fireplace. “We want to offer an authentic experience of a traditional restaurant. Some weeks ago a Japanese tourist came to eat here. She came back a week later just before she was flying back to Japan. I asked why'd she come when tomorrow she could go eat in Japan. She told me they don't have places like this anymore in Japan!”

I take his word for it. Undoubtedly Chef Shiraishi is qualified for the task and it is quite possible that Marju, holding a degree in Japanese culture, can share you some insight about Japan that not every college student waiting your table in Tokyo could.

When I left I turned back to wave good-byes for the couple. It is mighty strange to see this cottage, with a piece of Japan hidden inside, covered in snow in the backyard of a block of flats. It is like visiting Narnia.

The story was published first time in Silverspoon.