Mario's Seawall Italian Restaurant

It’s Late, It’s Late

It is just a little after 7 pm, and the parking lot is full! This leads me to wonder why we are here, at one of the busiest restaurants in Galveston without reservations. “There may be no room at the inn,” Michael tells me—the inn being Mario’s Seawall Italian Restaurant. And there is no room outside or possibly inside because, at Mario’s Seawall they don’t take reservations. Here the early bird gets the worm—and we are decidedly not early.

But Michael is determined to eat at Mario’s, circling the parking lot forever hopeful, stopping and waiting when he sees two smiling diners exit the restaurant, cross the street and head for their car. He carefully backs into the vacated space, and soon, we are standing before the hostess, learning that there will be a forty-minute wait. Neither one of us is surprised—the place is packed. We take deep breaths. Discussions ensue. We discover eating in the bar at a high-topped table is an option.

Dinner at Mario’s Seawall in the Bar

Sitting here, at a very intimate table for two—by the window—we decide the coziness and the quieter atmosphere might even be better than the main dining room. We each order a drink and arancini to share.

Arancini

This appetizer—stuffed parmesan risotto balls, breaded and fried, served atop a pool of meat sauce—was the very first thing I ever tasted at Mario’s Seawall almost two years ago. When I took my first bite, I swooned. I am ready to swoon again. And I do. The arancini is delicious—even better than I remember. That first time, I ate the WHOLE thing—so this time, I knew I should share. Michael thinks the crunchy, gooey, oozy, rich balls of arborio rice and parmesan are as delicious as I think they are.

Too Many Mini Meatballs

We order dinner. I should have a salad. I ask for lasagna—loaded with tiny meatballs. The description lured me in, and the homemade lasagna noodles clinched the deal. I’m curious. Lasagna is ubiquitous to all Italian restaurant menus—but the recipes—the recipes are a different story. It seems, based on experience, that every restaurant has its own, mostly delicious, version. I want to try Mario’s.

Since eggplant parmesan is not on the menu, Michael chooses veal. We sit and sip, and people watch in this tiny space. We aren’t rushed by our server but checked on regularly.

When dinner is set before us, I am overwhelmed! The portion of Mario’s Seawall version of lasagna in front of me could easily feed two people—probably three. I cut off a third and save the remainder for lunch for two. Tomorrow. Staring at my plate, I realize that even a third is a lot. This is the most meat-centric lasagna I have ever seen—tiny meatballs spill out of the layers of pasta and onto the sauce. Michael takes a bite. “It is good,” he says, “and it will still be good warmed up for tomorrow’s lunch.

If Only We Had Waited…

Michael has a tunnel view into the main dining room, and he keeps me updated, telling me if we had only waited until 8 pm, getting a table wouldn’t have been a problem.

“But I like where we are,” I say, thinking I may even become a barfly diner in the future.

As we begin to walk out the door, Michael looks at me and asks, “Aren’t you going to take your lasagna?”

OMG! This is my MO—to ask for a doggy bag, and then leave it on the table. I quickly retrieve tomorrow’s lunch, wondering as we walk toward our car if Mario’s Seawall serves their arancini for Happy Hour.