Cucina Dell’arte, one of a couple open-air restaurants on Royal Poinciana Way in Palm Beach is a see and be seen stop for the fabulous (and fabulously wealthy).

It’s a mishmash architecturally that if you really pay attention is quite hideous (hello giant disco ball) but you aren’t here for that.  Instead, enjoy the ocean breeze, an Arnold Palmer, decent if not tired food and watch the Bentley’s parade by.

The menu at lunch is salads and sandwiches, pizza, pasta and a smattering of mostly inoffensive sounding entrees.  Nothing here will challenge your palette and nothing here will make you marvel over the creativity.

French onion soup is the special of the day and against his better judgment The Monster orders it.  It’s vaguely tasteless.  There is little French, nor onion about it.  Where is the crusty cheese surrounding the gooey middle?  Oh that’s right, it’s nowhere to be found.

Oh well.  That woman is wearing what must be a fifteen carat diamond and has more plastic in her face than a tupperware convention and she’s not complaining as she eats the same soup.  Actually, she might be but her face hasn’t naturally moved since the first Bush was in office.

Blackened Mahi Mahi with sliced tomato, avocado, white beans, olive oil and lemon makes the grade as the main course.  The salad is blandly nice.  It’s like drinking a white zinfandel.  It’s like shopping with your in-laws.  It’s pleasant enough but you do it sparingly.

At night Cucina ups the ante with a better and more adventurous menu (and more deftly prepared cuisine) and later in the evening it becomes quite the social scene for young singles and old, moneyed men.  This is probably your best bet and when that odious disco ball at least begins to make a whit of sense.

Why go?  Dr. Novak did great work.

Monster rating: 2½/5 Monsters

257 Royal Poinciana Way
Palm Beach, FL 33480

(561) 655-0770

Cucina Dell' Arte on Urbanspoon

1 Comment

Filed under Cucina Dell'arte (Palm Beach), Reviews



    hi sean–i enjoy your posts—it makes father monster laugh and that is what i need—dad

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