at the sign of The Pink Pig: Pasta Is King At East 7th's Giano

[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 23, 2013]

d'agnello e noci tostate

Regular readers will know that, because I didn't grow up with Italian food (it wasn't a major part of my youthful eating, anyway), I don't have that visceral connection with it many New Yorkers share.

So when I do eat Italian, I'm always looking for something which sets a restaurant apart from the very--very--populous gang. At Giano, on East 7th a step or two from Tompkins Square Park, I'm convinced it's the pasta.

I was invited to dine there recently, and although I've walked by the sleek bar and dining room hundreds of times (it's been open more than four-and-a-half years), it's one of many EV restaurants I hadn't got around to trying. I was glad I did, as soon as owner and wine director Paolo Rossi started pouring the Prosecco freely. In fact, his generous wine pours throughout the evening almost matched the torrential rain outside.

A tour of appetizers kicked things off: a fluffy beef meatball with tomato sauce, a crisp croquette filled with smooth tuna-ricotta paste (and dabbed with balsamico), and some pan-crisped polenta with a tumble of chunky mushrooms, Parmiggiano grated on top.

A nice kick-off, but it was the pasta which turned my head. Made inhouse, chef Matteo Niccoli introduced us to three varieties. I'd have been happy with a bowlful of any one of them.

Most curious were the bigoli. Built on the same scale as bucatini, but without the characteristic central hole, these were robust, correctly chewy, ropes of heartiness. From medieval times, according to chef Matteo, and there was certainly something primal about the dish. The strands were blanketed with a comforting lamb ragù, and dusted with toasted walnut powder. I needed snow to follow the rain outside: this is midwinter eating (pass the Brunello).

d'agnello e noci tostate

Gnocchi were more familiar, appropriately light and delicate, and bathed in a quattro formaggi sauce. Suffice to say, the Gorgonzola came trumpeting through loud and clear--which is fine by me.

And then I come to the best of the three. For me, anyway; opinions around the table were divided. Tonnarelli (a square spaghetti) with "colatura di alici." This, as you all know, is a Neapolitan anchovy sauce or syrup, made by pressing and squeezing anchovies.

Some felt the dish was fishy. On the contrary, I thought it avoided the harsh saltiness of some anchovies entirely--the sauce gave it a rich meatiness (and I swear, this is a sauce which should be used in hearty meat stews, where crushing a few anchovies in for the last minutes of cooking is a surefire way of adding...yes, umami). Oh, some panko crumbs for texture too, and parsley for an additional accent.

If I can't persuade you to a pasta tasting, there are certainly other ways to go. The baccalà, served Livornese style (with cherry tomatoes, capers, and olives) proved to be a cut of fresh cod. And fresh and sweet it was too. Personally, I think salt cod, with its more robust flavor, stands up better to these accompaniments.

The filetto, with a balsamic glaze, was a hearty hunk of meat, appropriately served medium rare, garnished with basil-mashed potatoes, and a tangle of pancetta and onions. (Dishes were downsized, of course, for the tasting).

I think you can forgive me for being a little full to face the tiramisu with unbridled enthusiasm at this point, but the other dessert hit the spot. A "cappuccino"--icy, soothing, and blessedly not too sweet.

The restaurant's name (and logo) derives from the forward-and-backward-facing god Janus, and I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with the front of the restaurant being smoothly modern, the rear more rustic and antico. There's a garden in the rear (for when it's not raining).

Full servings of pasta are around $14-$15 (an extra couple of bucks for the bigoli), main courses $18 to $23.

Here's the website.