Cheyenne Restaurant Guide
L'Osteria Mondello
(1 ratings)
(307) 778-6068
1507 Stillwater Avenue Suite D, Cheyenne, WY 82009
Dining Specials
Mr. Jim's Pizza
Pizzeria
Italian Food & Culture History
October 12, 2009 @ 1:08 PM
a diner from Laramie, Wyoming
Mondello’s
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
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Number of Reviews: 1
October 12, 2009 @ 1:08 PM
a diner from Laramie, Wyoming
Mondello’s
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
L'Osteria Mondello Map
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October 12, 2009 @ 1:08 PM
a diner from Laramie, Wyoming
Mondello’s
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
Every place was busy, every restaurant crowded, even in the state with smallest population every spot along Dell Range Boulevard was full. I remembered seeing a listing for Mondello Pizza, considering all the chains being busy pizza might be as much for dining as it got tonight. Even the pizzeria was busy. Looking around for a place to wait until I could order, I spotted an archway out of the way. Shortly after leaning on the arch way a waiter came saying
“it would be a few minutes?”
Where the waiter went was a room to the rear with a dozen tables where people were dining. This would be an improvement. Not expecting much, as Cheyenne is a long way from New York or Italy, a few minutes later I was seated perusing the menu. It was Italian, not American Italian, Italian. They were the same meals we took in Italy before going on the town. Not smothered with cheese or measured with hand gestures, real Italian.
“Would you like something to drink?’
With the items listed on the menu I grew brave,
“Chianti.” Thinking no way they would get this right, I was also offered house chardonnay or merlot (for those Americans with one foot in Wyoming and one in California). A glass of dark red wine was quickly sitting on the table. My first sip I knew I was dealing with an Italian palate. Full bodied lightly tart with the tannins, it was American absolutely but the taste was Italian.
Casting around, while sipping wine, I asked the next person checking on me to bring a menu. I had already ordered, still I had no problem catching somebody’s eye. Every person working the restaurant stopped going out of their way for a single diner at a corner table making sure I had everything I needed, every single one. Passing through the pizzeria I noticed the head busboy constantly neatening, tidying everywhere, this place wanted the employees waiting on the diners the entire time they were working.
Looking at the entire menu closer, it ran from eleven to twenty seven dollars. The owner’s name stood out now: Giuseppe Mondello, the owner, was Italian. That explained the colors, shades and tones being Mediterranean, Italy is European but their food is Mediterranean. The room held a dozen tables no more with an adjacent al fresco motif room holding another half dozen. With Wyoming’s blowing wind and grit, looking al fresco being the better part of dining al fresco.
Anticipating going out on the town I ordered a meal to match, linguini and broccoli. The standard in Italy, something you do not see in pizza parlors here. Arriving, not over cooked or weighed down with filler, bearing no more sauce than to spread the flavor I upheld the local standard by socking away the long stands of pasta in a continuous process. Thinking while paying this was as close as I had to real Italian dining in years, I put a couple more dollars on the tip.
