[Pigging by Wilfrid, April 27 2007]
Introducing the under-construction "Wilfrid's A-Z: Eating the Apple". And where better to begin? Ah, Andrew Carmellini, how we've missed you. How the gastronomes of the Upper East Side must miss you too.
(Spaghetti with ramp leaves)
For several years, under Carmellini, Café Boulud was dollar-for-dollar the most reliable and satisfying purveyor of classic French cuisine in the city. Restaurant Daniel, the Boulud flagship, was more expensive and more frequently disappointed. And Carmellini did serve the classics: the best oysters, superb terrines, saucisse en brioche, braises and daubes. The Café's neat quartet of menus also allowed him to free-form international cuisine, provide a full service for vegetarians, and offer a seasonal "market-driven" selection of dishes. It must have been fun for him, and certainly was for us.
Imagine the gnashing of fragile teeth chez Wilfrid when we heard he had thrown all this up to go make pasta and meatballs. Well, not quite, but I am by no means a wholehearted fan of Italian restaurant cooking. I took myself back to the Café, but it was not the same without him. Not even when slippered by optimism derived from a strong martini at Bemelmans, across the street.
Months overdue, then, I summoned the will-power to face what I'd heard was a fantastically noisy and hectic scene at his new outpost A Voce, in the upper reaches, I suppose, of the Flatiron District.
I especially wasn't looking forward to the chairs. And there they were: revolving Eames chairs. A famous design, and apt for any office. An interesting effect in a restaurant - if you brush against the back of a diner's seat on the way, for example, to the restroom, you can spin them away from their plate.
A Voce is a glassy, sleek, L-shaped room, and I was relieved to be seated in the somewhat quieter section near the door. It was loud, but endurable. No tablecloths. Informally chirpy service. Gimmicky plating. Terrific cooking.
Actually, the first dish sampled, something of a signature, was a little disappointing. Duck meatballs, with a smidge of foie gras in the center, were coated with a stiffly sticky red sauce, which I suppose was the advertised cherry mostarda. I was reminded of Craftbar in its original location, and its wilfully quirky menu. One night I watched a party from out-of-town order the only apparently safe and normal meat entree - the meatballs - which came entirely unadorned. Four people staring in silence at nothing but eight meatballs. These aren't quite so plain, but I felt they'd be more fun as an entree with some kind of starch, most obviously pasta, to cut the richness.
The other appetizer was wonderful.
Eggs, asparagus, pancetta, a touch of truffling. Spring.
And the seasonal theme continued with a special of al dente spaghetti, almost an Alfredo sauce, but kicked up with the new ramps. The leaves, anyway. If the tiny bulbs were in the dish, they had melded with the sauce. One of the best ramp dishes I can remember.
Entrees were rib-sticking, but well prepared. First-rate short ribs, and a generous serving of hanger steak tangled in a colorful pepperonata. 
The steak, like some other entrees, was served in some kind of metal bucket, which is just kind of annoying and awkward. I am a big fan of the plate, myself.
Italian cheeses - unusual selections, simply presented. Brunet, a Brie-ish goats milk cheese; a Rebruchon (cow's milk) from Cora; and a "creamified" Gorgonzola, which seemed to mean not very blue. For dessert, I enjoyed the olive oil cake more than the fairly standard chocolate.
Loved it. Ah, Andrew Carmellini: please now open another restaurant, French and quiet.
