Colleen Van Tassell
Two month-old L'Orcio is destined for New Haven fame. Yes, we have our favorite penne a la vodka here, our favorite chicken marsalas there, but Joe and I and (dare we say New Haveners?) have yet to taste this type of Italian craftsmanship within city limits. What Scoozzi did for New Haven in the '80s, it's quite possible L'Orcio will do in the new millennium.
The moral of this story? There's pretty food and good food that is pretty.
Joe and I strolled to L'Orcio from our home on a beautiful Tuesday evening. Little did we know that each step would take us closer to a perfect Tuesday night at the hands of our new East Rock neighbors, Alison DeRenzi and chef Francesco d'Amuri, owners of L'Orcio. Unbeknownst to us, just a block away from our humble abode awaited the sweetest table for two. It was attended to by Luke, one of the best waiters we've had the pleasure of meeting.
DeRenzi's art history background and d'Amuri's woodworking skills are evident in the freshly renovated space, which has seen its share of shifting patrons over the years. Formerly a Polish-American club, the State Street space became home to the New Haven Athletic Club before morphing into Taboo. Neither had staying power in its area of State Street, which is a little disconnected from the rest of the strip's restaurants and bars.
Walls have been stripped of dart boards, beer logos and pool cue racks, painted a warm butter and left virtually bare, except for a well-chosen large poster on both the first floor (the bar area), the second floor (the dining room) and over the bar. D'Amuri, who owned a restoration business in his native Italy, restored the wood stair railing and all the floors. Chair cushions were also reupholstered by the couple in Italian leather.
Upstairs, we were led to a small table overlooking an alley and windows of St. Stanislaus School. Our view, neither pastoral nor oceanic, made us feel as if we were in an urban still life. Every table was set with a small, simple glass vase containing a single gerber daisy. Water was served in tall, clear highball glasses. Clean, uncluttered, European. No distractions, no bells and whistles, are needed for food so fine.
Luke welcomed us with a small plate of bruschetta, then delivered a delicious gimlet to Joe, fit for a cocktail snob. We ordered a powerful red (the $28 bottle--hey, I know nothing about grapes and leaves, just prices) and lingered in the luscious lighting, which comes more from the color of the walls than the fixtures. It gave me a face lift, minus the surgery. It's a perfect place for a first date if you don't do what I did and order the steamed mussel appetizer ($10).
Before I knew it, I was licking my fingers, wiping juice off my face and fending off my husband's stares, as he thought I'd become suddenly possessed by a coal miner and descended deep into the bowl while he wasn't looking. We asked Luke if the secret ingredient was an illegal substance, even though we guessed it was simply garlic, white wine and butter, only done just the right way. L'Orcio's mussel bowl was not only delicious, it was filled to biblical proportions. Joe's carpaccio ($13) was equally impressive--the paper-thin slices of rare Angus beef were served with arugula drizzled in truffle oil.
As for our entrees, I chose handmade ravioli filled with potatoes flavored with pancetta and rosemary and topped with a meat sauce made with beef, veal and pork (the way meat sauce should be made). There are meat sauces and MEAT sauces. D'Amuri's is not for those thinking they're going to get upscale (read: wimpy) food. Not since Dominic's in the Bronx have I tasted a sauce worthy of the term meat sauce.
Joe's herb-rubbed lamb chops were tender, pink in the middle and chock full of that inimitable lamb flavor. One can only hope they weren't cut from the little beasties we saw lolling around the Ireland countryside on our honeymoon. The sauce was a combination of butter and reduced lamb stock. On the side were shredded Brussels sprouts with salty pork. The pleasant, peasanty polenta was fried crisp.
L'Orcio creates three homemade desserts daily. You may choose a lemon tart one day, or a chocolate pear tart the next ($5). We had the luck of coming on charlotte night ($7)--a mousse made with cocoa, rum, amaretto cookies and cream. While the description sounds Club Med, the taste is truly Riviera. L'Orcio is also a brilliant stop off for dessert and a cappuccino at the bar (thinking of dates here), as we did, finishing up with dark grappa.
This little restaurant might just knock the socks off New Haven. And, perhaps, knock some restaurants off their thrones. |
