Elise Maclay
In Italy, clichés come true and love stories have happy endings. L’Orcio in New Haven is here to prove it. A few years ago, Alison De Renzi, an American art history student, went to Florence. Two days after she arrived, she met Francesco d’Amuri, an Italian Chef whose avocation is woodworking. It was love at first sight. They married and lived in Italy, dreaming of a restaurant they would open in America one day. L’Orcio is that restaurant. A stylish makeover of a free-standing building with good architectural bones and a checkered history (New Haven Athletic Club, Polish-American Club funky bar called Taboo), the sleek, polished interior is refreshingly uncluttered and superbly lighted. Tables set pleasingly apart give a spacious feel to the room when it’s full (an upstairs dinning area handles the over flow on buy nights). Service is calm, friendly and professional. In short, everything that might interfere with the enjoyment of the fine Italian food has been edited out.
Artifice or accident, it works. When the food arrives, I experienced a wave of pure pleasure. First into my mouth was a bite of crostini slathered with a sybaritic spread of pureed leek, mild as May and light as sea foam. A complimentary offering, too sturdy for the term amuse bouche, the toasts were full-size, four slices for four of us. Without a qualm, we ate every crumb. When ambrosia is served, ‘tis sin not to dig in.
The menu is extensive but there lots of specials, too. Butternut squash soup was one. Thick without a speck of cream, it was vibrantly flavored with herbs. Insalata di pesce was a shipload of tender scungilli, calamari, tiny baby clams and mussels tossed with a lemon wine dressing and garnished with fresh carrots and red and yellow peppers. Listed among the antipasti, it was enough for a light main course.
My carpaccio di filetto was also generously apportioned, but it was so delicious I hated to any away. Tissue thin slices of filet mignon fanned out in rosy petals framing a tumble of wonderfully fresh arugula dressed with a lemon vinaigrette and topped with shavings of excellent Parmigiano Reggiano.
“Takes e back to Trieste”, our guest, Frank, said. “Takes me back to Venice”, said I.
When it came to specials, we really lucked out. Fresh sardines were on offer as an appetizer, branzino could be had roasted or grilled, whole or filleted as an entrée, and home made pappardelle could be substituted for any pasta dish on the menu. We exercised our options and ordered all three.
The sardines were fresh enough o have jumped from the sea to the plate. Displayed on a bed of baby greens-four plump little fish, perfectly cooked, totally unadorned, tasting of nothing but themselves-were the essence of simplicity. In Italy I may have had fresh sardines as good as these, but abroad or here I’ve never had better.
The branzino, a firm, white Mediterranean fish, tastes as good as it looked-grilled and served whole, head on and all, piping-hot on a hot plate.
Only the pappardelle del ragu disappointed. But the fault was in the menu, not in the kitchen. The pappardelle were angelic but the meat sauce, “prepared with veal, pork, beef and a hint of tomato” was devilishly hot. Fine if you love the fire of red peppers on the tongue, otherwise a shock. Not a culinary sin, just a linguistic lapse: failure to warn.
Cosine di agnello griglate, however, were precisely as described: “Grilled New Zealand baby lamb chops marinated in wine and herbs drizzled with a lamb stock reduction.” The chops were carefully trimmed and cooked medium-rare, the stock reduction heady and intense. Halved bulbs of fennel, bakes with a gilding of oil and crumbs, looked like pale green flowers on the plate and provided a crunchy sweetness that set off the rich dark flavor of the meat.
What we liked about the “grilled pork tenderloin with whit wine, rosemary and sage served with Portobello marinates in balsamic vinegar” was the subtly of t he preparation. Rosemary and sage are pungent herbs that need to be kept in their place, and marinating mushrooms in balsamic is tricky business. Chief d’Amuri does it wish finesse.
Restraint was evident in every dish we tried. As a result, our meal was a symphony of clean, clear tastes. Olive oil, garlic, pancetta and Parmiggiano tend to be overdone in the States. Not at L’Orcio.
Desserts are house-made and vary from day to day. We had a homey apple tart chock-ablock with fruit and a heavenly chocolate charlotte made with cocoa, rum, amaretto cookies and cream. Rumor had it that a tangy lemon tart is sometime on offer, also a pastry involving chocolate and pears. But two of us, spiritually transported to the city on the Arno, ended the evening in high Florentine style-with sips of golden vin sante, and a toast to true love and happy endings. |
