A Blow-Out At Ciano

[Pigging by Wilfrid:  September 28, 2011]

I guess I had planned on a pleasant supper, testing Shea Gallante's take on more-or-less traditional Italian cuisine in the space which once was Becco Beppe.

 

I had found Becco terribly boring when I lived in the neighborhood.  Although Gallante was carrying the mainstream Italian torch, I was interested to see what adjustments his haute cuisine background might lead him to make.  I admit, the wine program attracted me too.

Little has changed in terms of ambience since Ciano was Beppe.   Chef Gallante has certainly scaled things down from the heydays of Cru with its Michelin star and pricy tasting menus.  His audience at Ciano is conservative and he plays what in England we call a "straight bat" with the food.

Soppressata, to start, is house-made and notably good.  Moist with the right kind of fat, it has a lingering sweetness, not unlike wind-dried Chinese sausage, although the spice profile remains Italian.  It followed a savory slab of grilled pizza dough and some foccaccio with deliberately charred garlic (to me, burnt, but maybe that's just me).  Smooth ricotta and olive oil were present for spreading and dipping.

Sipping a glass of Franciacorta and contemplating the ambitious wine-list, my plans for the evening kind of changed.  As we all know, food critics working mainstream media outlets in New York are anonymous.  Of course they are.  They use fake names when reserving and paying, and no matter that the Adam Platts and Sam Siftons of this world have been eating in New York restaurants for years, they magically become invisible when they assume the critic's mantle.

Right.  Even Josh Beckerman couldn't make Platty disappear. 

So it's not long before my estimable server, a long-time veteran of Colicchio and Canora operations, recognizes me and we start chewing the fat.  Then I start chewing the extra, comped dishes, which I was hardly going to refuse.  (According to the inadvertently hilarious eGullet code of food blogger ethics, I should have made a speech before touching the dishes, asserting that "favorable coverage would not be provided in exchange for the comp."  Back in the real world, I said thank you.

The crespelle were my idea, soft pasta pillows stuffed with ricotta, bedded on a hot tomato sauce with spinach and zucchini, the whole thing sprinkled with cheesy breadcrumbs.  Satisfaction for the red sauce brigade.

There's a $79 pasta tasting menu.  I didn't want to eat pasta all night, but I wanted to test what the kitchen could do with it.  Next up, then, appealingly sturdy house-made cavatelli with an oxtail ragout.  The oxtail was meaty; could perhaps have been more saucy to coat the pasta; but with the added attraction of smoked pecorino, it was an efficiently comforting dish.

Ah, pasta.  Well this wasn't my idea, but the kitchen hoped I would try the cortecce from the pasta tasting with baby octopus with Calabria peppers and garlicky breadcrumbs.  Always pleased to help out.  Loved the octopus; my only quibble, the breadcrumbs came out a little gritty.

I'd been helping all this find its destination with gulps of 2001 Savigny Les Beaunes "Lavières," thanks to sommelier John Slover's enlightened half bottle policy.  In  simple terms this means that for many wines on the list, including quite a few with bottle age, he will open the bottle and pour half of it for you.  This dramatically increases your chance of drinking something interesting without breaking three figures.

I swirled while I waited for the duck.  "But the meatballs are our famous dish."  Wait, no, it's not possible.  "Just one meatball."  I succumbed.  It was fairly substantial, loosely packed, tasty, but the highlight for me was very smooth polenta flavored with truffled pecorino.

The duck breast was massive, cooked medium-rare and cut into thick chunks.  Good meat, and the skin was crisp as promised, but had some kind of rub which was a little sweet for my own taste.  Pluots (an apricot-plum hybrid) were grilled as a garnish.  In this muted light, I am afraid it was all unphotographably brown.

Several chocolate desserts were served against my feeble resistance.  Chef Gallante is certainly not spreading his wings here, but after watching the painfully extended buffeting of Cru by the forces of economic turbulence (especially after he left), I can hardly blame him.  This is a safe haven.  And a filling one.

Yes, a Website.