Press Reviews

NEW! Seattle Post-Intelligencer
Ristorante Machiavelli: A toast to the menu and bill
Machiavelli is the perfect balm for our troubled times, a cozy ristorante serving deeply satisfying fare at astonishingly low prices.

Before heaping praise on the food, though, let's begin at the end of the meal. Machiavelli has a welcome payment policy, offering an instant rebate if you pony up cash to settle your bill. This is by far the tastiest stimulus package I've seen lately. I'm no math whiz, but after applying the 5 percent discount, hey, I think I can afford to have another glass of wine. Well, half a glass anyway...

On that first evening, my Machiavelli-loving buddy nudged me toward the veal picatta and urged me to order the roasted veggies on the side instead of pasta. When my meal arrived, I marveled at how something so seemingly simple could taste so wonderful. The thin slices of veal were tender and finished in the trademark citrusy butter sauce, while the golden slices of potato and bits of carrot were ever-so-slightly caramelized... (Feb. 26, 2009)
[Read the full review at seattlepi.com]

Seattle Post-Intelligencer
Dining out for Valentine's Day: Be mine -- on a budget
If you haven't booked your table yet, don't sweat it. There are some spots that don't take reservations... One of the best of the bunch is Machiavelli on Capitol Hill, its menu bursting with options well under $20. I love the ahi carpaccio ($8.95), the spinach lasagna layered with chicken livers ($10.25) and the veal piccata ($14.95). No that's not a typo! That's really the price, which is why this tiny, family-run place is always jam-packed after 6, no matter what day. Put your name on the list and squeeze into the bar for a glass of wine while you wait. Food's served in the bar, too, and they do a whole lot of takeout business. (Feb. 13, 2009)

Seattle Magazine
Most Romantic Cheap Date: Pasta and Vino at Machiavelli
This dark and intimate, triangle-shaped Capitol Hill Italian mainstay is as good as you remember. Generous plates of spicy, salty linguine puttanesca ($9.75) or garlicky linguine al vongole ($9.75) satisfy, and the wine list has decent reds like Montepulciano for just $5.50 a glass. If you don't feel like waiting for a table, settle in at the tiny, wood-topped bar. The full menu is served here, and the bar offers a sublime sunset view of downtown and Queen Anne. (Jan. 2009)

Seattle Weekly
Machiavelli is like a rumpus room for grown-ups. The dress is as casual as a play date, and in place of wooden blocks and a bucket full of Legos and Playmobil figures, there's a menu full of delicious Italian cuisine to toy with, and wine that flows as free as a day at school with no homework. There's so much deliciousness, it's hard to know where to turn first. The tuna carpaccio dressed with fresh lemon and capers? The crisp mixed-green salad topped generously with chickpeas and tangy gorgonzola? Entrées such as traditional chicken parm, delicate spinach shells sautéed with Italian sausage, or a variety of thin-crust pizzas prove just as difficult to pick from. But my all-time Machiavelli favorite makes me feel like a kid all over again: classic spaghetti topped with two giant meatballs and a pile of Parmesan cheese. There's not much room for building forts or wrestling matches, but there won't be anyone calling you upstairs to take out the garbage or brush your teeth and get ready for bed either-which beats a rumpus room hands down. (April 23, 2008)

The Stranger
Here is basic Italian food made exactly right--the Bolognese with different meats plus chicken livers, carbonara that is not scrambled but silken and decadent, a restrained but perfect antipasto plate. The filet mignon in a red-wine glaze is the best steak for the price in town. And the service is some of the best in the city: brisk, excellent, and, above all, dedicated to getting the food on the table while it's still hot. (ongoing listing)

Review by Dan Savage:
Gee, a lot of great new restaurants have opened in Seattle. I'll get to 'em all eventually, I guess. But as often as not I find myself returning to places I already know, places I already trust, for dishes that don't surprise me. There's something supremely comforting about a great old place--particularly a great old place that has the good sense to resist change for change's sake--you know, a place that doesn't change hands, decor, or recipes over the years. If the place is good out of the gate, and works hard to stay good over the years, you find yourself going back time and time again, for the same dishes time and time again.

That's how I feel about the small, unassuming Italian bistro Machiavelli, and love is what I feel every time I order--every time I allow myself to order-a plate of their spaghetti carbonara ($9.75). I'm not sure there's enough room to list everything Machiavelli gets right with its spaghetti carbonara: the rich, creamy sauce; the large, chewy chunks of smoky bacon; the bottomless dish of parmesan cheese. But I have to draw attention to one thing in particular: the portion size.

Restaurants are often tempted to go overboard when it comes to portion size with pasta dishes-pasta is cheap, and piling a plate high looks impressive. But this is, for a health-conscious diner, a disincentive. Once a plate of great spaghetti carbonara is set down in front of you, you're going to eat the whole damn thing--your self-control is out the window. So you're--and by "you're," of course, I mean "I'm"--more likely to order this dish, one of my absolute favorites, in a place that isn't going to set 10 pounds of the stuff down in front of you. God bless you, Machiavelli. (February 6, 2008)

Seattle Metropolitan
Go to the frenetic corner of Pine and Melrose. Step inside the bustling wedge of a restaurant. Enter Brooklyn. With only 14 tables, you will wait, but Machiavelli's shadowy little bar is a very appealing place to do it, over some people-watching par excellence--the whole spectrum of Capitol Hill's monde and demimonde--and a terrific cocktail. Seasoned servers, who can turn a table without a whiff of a rush, can likewise turn a table on to some fine saucy classics--creamy Alfredos, kickin' marinaras, and a fine carbonara. The veal is a house specialty and a guilty pleasure; the steak, known among cognoscenti, is a triumph.

Seattle Press Online
Machiavelli Ristorante is one of Seattle's hidden jewels. Nestled on the corner of Pine and Melrose, on the climb to Capitol Hill, Machiavelli consistently makes really good Italian food. They cook up some of the best, most authentic Italian sauces around, with nothing trendy added. Their carbonara and puttanesca sauces offer delicious comfort, while the gnocchi and ravioli always please, and the spinach lasagna is a yummy traditional recipe with chicken liver. Meat and poultry dishes are great, and daily specials often add seafood. Salads and starters are ... well, I'll save space and say, "It's all good!"

Having been to Machiavelli numerous times with numerous people ordering numerous dishes, the end result has always been the same: Everyone loves Machiavelli. It's so popular that you may wait up to an hour for a table on weekends. But the wait is worth it, and you can always enjoy a drink in their cozy little bar in the meantime. But whatever you do, save a little room for dessert. Machiavelli's Diplomatico, a twist on Tiramisu, will have you skipping all the way home. (Feb. 8, 2001)

Bar Reviews

The Stranger
43 of Our Favorite Bars
The best thing about the bar in this Italian restaurant is that its spirit, mood, and culture are unmistakably urban. No red state or red town or red street could ever produce a bar like this. The diminishing northern end of downtown is visible through its wide windows, and it's always packed with a variety of well-dressed people. Every time I've visited the establishment there have been two or three beautiful woman (birds of paradise) sitting on high chairs, steadily sipping something strong and translucent, while talking, laughing, and looking out at (or being softly ghosted by) the remaining light of a beautiful sunset. A glass of house wine is only $2.50 and not half bad. (January 26, 2005)

Bar Exam: A Reliable Friend
The whole world should be lit like the bar at Machiavelli. It's approximately the size of the head of a pin, and oftentimes more people are fit into it than seems possible, and they're all better looking and happier than they actually are in real life elsewhere. On a recent night, the wait for a table upstairs was an hour and a half; bathed in the red glow of the "COCKTAILS" sign in the window, everybody drank martinis and glasses of wine and didn't mind. At the bar, a man discussed his ongoing psychotherapy at length, with such good cheer that it was clear that the treatment, the martini, his meds, or some combination of all of it was working well. ("Therapy is not depressing!" he said.)

Machiavelli's been at the corner of Pine Street and Melrose Avenue for a long time. Fancier, higher-concept Italian restaurants come and go, amazing or disappointing or both; Machiavelli's a reliable friend. Machiavelli's lasagna, baked to order (allow 20 minutes) with spinach noodles and chicken livers, is the kind of thing you think about suddenly for no apparent reason. Then if you don't have it for dinner that night, you will the next night or some night very soon.

The tables in the dining room don't have red-and-white-checked tablecloths, but they might as well. People bring their parents or their 10 closest friends or someone they really like for a first (or second, or umpteenth) date. Once (and probably more than once) one-half of a couple arose from a table to get down on bended knee, velvety box with ring in hand. This went over capitally, applauded by the whole room.

The bar's walls are wood paneled, the ceiling is dormered, and the single table (known as "the island") is coveted. People trudge past outside, going down to or coming up from downtown. (It's especially satisfying viewing in the winter, when passersby look cold and miserable, while inside everyone is insulated with good company, beverages, and anticipation.) Usually nothing exciting happens in the bar, but during the WTO, a hand-lettered sign in the window declared the place independently owned and pro-sea turtle, and a captive audience watched the cops lobbing tear gas canisters at protesters. And one evening during happy hour not too long ago, two slightly unkempt men became slightly unruly, demanding the identity of the dapper man in the photo on the wall (it's the owner's grandfather), then commencing to play dice (they brought their own). The barkeep asked them to leave nicely. Belligerence ensued. She went behind the bar and returned with a baseball bat. They left with an alacrity suggesting they'd been on the business end of a baseball bat before, and life went on, peace restored. (January 16, 2008)