[Pigging by Wilfrid: June 9, 2008}
Twenty years. That's some life span for a Manhattan restaurant. Twenty years behind a revolving door on Central Park South. At the end of the month, lights out for Tony May's San Domenico - at this location.
I'm a relative newcomer. I've only been eating there since 1997. Chef Odette Fada has been there somewhat longer, although not from the very beginning. And it's Marisa May I know, rather than Tony - his daughter, whose energetic, enthusiastic presence lights up the dining room. I told you, this is a love letter; the time for reviews is past.
February 1997, I moved into a spectacular company apartment on 57th Street, bay windows giving a high, wide perspective on downtown and across the Hudson River.
I had been visiting New York for years, and I'd just arrived to live - single, a good job, some money to spend, and always hungry. The eating options along the stretch of 57th between Eighth and Ninth Avenues were dispiriting: uniformly poor Italian, Chinese and French restaurants, all in a row. I was using downbeat D.J. Reynolds as my local bar; I cast around for somewhere to eat regularly.
It wasn't long before I was peering through the beaded curtains at San Domenico's quiet elegance. It looked expensive, but hey... Before I knew it, and much to the dismay of my ban account, I was eating here almost every week. Often on Sunday evenings, when the tasting menu made a splendid supper. I soon got to know Chef Fada's classics.
Tasting menus often began with a cup of borlotti bean soup. Rusty brown, warming, just slicked with high quality olive oil. Shards of fiercely sharp bottarga - the dried, salt-cured roe of the tuna - spiked crisp green salads. The clever trick with pasta was encasing a whole, soft-cooked egg in a big, pillowy raviolo and bathed in truffled butter. Risotto changed daily and was always exceptional. Anything the kitchen did with baby goat, rabbit or venison was fine by me. I loved the classic simplicity of presentation; the meat, a well-chosen vegetable, a touch of sauce. I'd finish with the panna cotta, brilliantly sauced with sweet balsamico.
I got to know Roberto, the now-retired maitre d', who would solemnly slice proscuitto to greet me, standing over the beautiful antique Berkel slicer, polished like a Maserati. I watched Piero step up from being one of two or three senior waiters to the sommelier position. I came each November to empty my pockets for the white truffles, often great, sometimes - in the nature of white truffles - a let down.
The atmosphere was mature, confident, serious without being stiff, a restaurant for grown-ups. The check was high; Tony May was opening his doors to people who were prepared to spend money on well-sourced, intelligently prepared food, accompanied by aged Barolos, Barbarescos and super-Tuscans.
In 2004, the room got a make-over. Furnishings became a little lighter. Even the staff's red tuxedos were replaced by Duca Sartoria suits, dark blue with a teasing red pinstripe. Otherwise, life went on.
Until now. The rumor is that tripling the lease has brought down the curtain on a restaurant which was doing as well as ever - always an easy reservation, never anything like empty. And so a pilgrimage was in order.
I might have stopped at the charming, semi-circular bar for a Campari, but Marisa had the table ready. Instead of the familiar borlotti soup, proceedings began with a smooth white bean version, spiked with sun-dried tomato.
Silver chargers were removed, and the familiar procession of crudités - stacks of raw carrots, celery, peppers and radishes - breads and oils began.
The bottarga showed its teeth, but this time in a neatly stacked salad of sweet, fresh tomatoes with an orange sauce.
It's become increasingly common to find scallops paired with sweet flavors around town. Chef Fada takes an assertively meaty route, serving them boldly seared over a rich veal jus, just touched with lemon, and crowned with endive.
Dining alone, I couldn't always get into the tempting list of pasta and rice dishes. They were too substantial to serve as appetizers, and I always had my eye on the meat main courses (although I've had superb whole fish too, boned at the table). Multiple parties can split those dishes though (except the famous egg raviolo, which would run everywhere).
On this occasion, I split the seafood risotto, deeply flavored, studded with mussels and clams.
The plating of the meat dishes seems strangely old-fashioned in a town where many years ago Alfred Portale taught chefs to make architecture with ingredients. There are restaurants in France, Spain and Italy, though, which still eschew fanciful presentation, simply slicing tasty food over an appropriate sauce, otherwise leaving it much alone. Rosy slices of veal filet relax over a cream and pancetta sauce
The saddle of rabbit positively snakes its way across the plate. A light, subtle green olive stuffing, Bugs Bunny carrots, and a little timbale of fennel.
There was not much sign of cheese here ten years ago. Few upscale New York restaurants, outside of Chanterelle and Picholine and Gramercy Tavern, could be bothered with it. San Domenico has moved with the times here, and will cut several Italian options with the usual accompaniments.
The wine list took a good of time in the old days: it's large, heavily Italian, and although I thought I didn't want a Chianti, I used not to know what I did want. Eventually I learnt my way around some of the interesting reds from outside the super-regions, and could call for something from Librandi or a Rosso Conero. And then I graduated to laziness, trusting Piero to find something approachable even among the Barolos. On this occasion I didn't even note the name, but it was a mightily perfumed, delicious bottle.
And if it's not the panna cotta, it has to be the signature Tisamisu, a slug of espresso in the sauce.
The evening winds down with biscotti, complimentary glasses of moscato, often fresh fruit too and good coffee. While gastronomic adventures pique my curiosity, and I can tackle sea urchin foam and cocoa nibs with the best of them, if I had to eat somewhere every night forever, I'd choose somewhere like this.
Many personal memories. I have brought friends and family and clients here. My father couldn't figure out how to unlock the bathroom door, and after a long wait at the table I had to go look for him. There has been present-giving, there have been birthdays and anniversaries. But all things come to an end - or in this case, an inconvenient interruption.
Mention of renovating and modernizing the San Domenico concept for a new location is not idle. I am told that premises have been identified: it will be a different restaurant, much larger, but senior staff will be staying with the organization. Right now, all is secret, but I'll announce the plans as soon as I can.
In the meantime, my thanks to Marisa and her father, to Piero, Chef Fada and everyone else, for a glamorous and satisfying dining marathon.
San Domenico's web-site is here. There's still time to sample the restaurant's classics as 1988 prices:
20th Anniversary Special Menu:
Available from May 29 through June 17
3 course menu; $55 plus tax and gratuity
240 Central Park South
For reservations call 212-265-5959
Note: Since this is such a personal and grateful notice, it's necessary to be specific about any connections with the restaurant. There are none. I became a regular here long before I ever published a restaurant review on the internet - before I'd even heard of Chowhound. Having dined here for so long, of course my parties have been comped drinks or dessert from time to time, and of course there's special attention from the staff. But all that came after I fell in love with the place.
