Writers Note: Throughout this review we may have to make up words to describe how fantastical (word one) Monjunis is. Just be aware, and use context clues to decipher their meaning. We do plan on releasing a translation book for all of these new words and phrases in the near future.
Monjunis, on Jefferson Highway in the Goodwood Village shopping center, presents us with only one complaint. In the booths, the space between the table and the seat is too far. Perhaps Shrek or Shaquille O’Neal is their target customer, but our arms are simply not long enough to reach our delicious food. That’s right, the food is delicious, and everything else was fantastic. The table thing is the only negative thing we can say.
Monjunis is a gift you give yourself, both for the eyes and the stomach. Swathed in red lights, fake grapes and gloriocity (word two), Monjunis seems like it’s run by the mafia; that is, if the mafia ran Hobby Lobby and exerted its power through fake grapes and velvet.
The restaurant is decorated like a vineyard or Bacchus’ formal dining room. The bar doubles as an Italian grocery store, which is great if you need boxed cakes or pastel-colored strainers. And we’re sure you do.
The waitstaff, dressed in white polos, are wisetastic (word three) about the menu and possibly life in general. Our waiter knew exactly how to describe the appetizers so that we had no choice but to order them, thereby eternally signing our souls over to the Monjunis cult.
We began our quest with the free bread and sweet marinara. Free is always good, but this bread tasted both extra free and extra good. We moved from free to priced, with the toasted ravioli. Imagine the pizza rolls of your childhood catapulted to a gourmet level. The appetizer could have been enough had we not been on a “Lord of the Rings”-esque quest for tastationalism (word four).
The name Neapolitan Stuffed Pasta originally conjured up the image of tri-color ice cream. But thankfully this was not the case. The pasta is akin to lasagna on steroids and smothered in a spectacular tomato basil sauce. The size alone would be enough to make novice reviewers tremble, but this is our sixth review. We’re pros – and we got take-out boxes.
Aside from the minor twang of guilt about eating baby cows, the Veal Parmesan was a symphony of flavourousness (word five), perfectly blending pasta, meat, cheese and sauce, like many violins and tubas. If Vivaldi could cook, he would have eaten here anyway, because he could not rival the ‘Junis.
Monjunis is a perfect first date place. It’s romantic but not in a smothering “I love you already” way. The relaxed, wine-soaked vibe could lull any couple into at least two months of a fruitless, lust-filled relationship. And if nothing else, one of our main goals is to bring people together – or at least get them laid.
If you are a die-hard Italian like Zac’s roomate you may not like Monjunis. But we tell you: go back to Italy. Monjunis is glxvkdgjlakdjg (word 6), and that’s all we can really say.