Photograph by Jeremy Wayne.
Yet another new red-sauce Italian restaurant in Westchester or Fairfield is usually nothing to get excited about. Besides, at first glance, there are so many things wrong with Ristorante de Amalfi”™s online menu ”“ culinary no-nos; seasonal solecisms; those murdered classics ”“ to say nothing of its less than lovely strip-mall location in Bedford Hills, which hardly conjure up images of the heavenly Amalfi coast, that, wrong though it may be, I have low expectations of the four-month-old restaurant before I”™m even through the door.
Still, you can”™t judge a book by its cover, at least that”™s what I tell myself, as I step gingerly inside.
But dear, oh dear. We”™re not off to a good start. The first room, a large square space with two bare wood tables and three booths, is dark and featureless. Pizzas in a glass display and on a takeout counter look tired. Things improve a little to the rear, with a main dining room with formally dressed tables ”“ alternating black and white napkins, no less ”“ as well as a cheerful bar.
In the front room, being lunchtime, I settle in one of the narrow booths. A chef in striped chef”™s gear appears and replaces a couple of the depleted pies from the counter. There are three tiers of pizza – traditional, brick oven and specialty – one of which is the Hawaiian, with ham and pineapple, about which, “least said soonest mended,” as the saying goes. As I study the menu, a man comes in and orders a slice of pizza to go. A moment later, another. Over the course of the next half an hour, at least a dozen people come in for pizza, stromboli and rolls. A lady comes in to pick up a catering order and staggers out under the weight of it. All good signs, I register.
I order stracciatella. My server is actually speaking on her cellphone as she plonks it down unceremoniously. But it”™s tremendous, earthy greens paddling in a vast bowl of rich, steaming hot broth, the equal of anything you”™d find in the old country.
A TV high up in the corner of the room, unsightly cables dangling, is showing the World Cup. A scruffily dressed man appears from the kitchen and places himself a little too close to my booth to watch the game. Failing to catch a server”™s attention, I rattle the empty paper-napkin dispenser more or less under his nose (you need a napkin to eat stracciatella) and he studiously ignores me. I guess he”™s not a server. The bread is warm but almost unnaturally white and springy. I don”™t touch it. This is a restaurant sending mixed messages.
“So why is the restaurant called Amalfi?” I ask a server, a young lady whom, for some illogical reason, I take to be part of the family, when I return for dinner a few nights later. I guess I”™m hoping to hear the chef is from Naples, or the owners have hybrid Amalfi lemon trees growing in their Westchester backyards. “We just like the place,” comes the reply, delivered, I must say, with a grin.
A stranger stops by my table. “I eat here regularly,” she announces. “The Pasta Norma is fantastic, and my mother-in-law always has a fish dish she loves.” Only in Bedford Hills, right? So, I order the Pasta Norma, with its sauce of mushrooms, tomatoes, mozzarella, ricotta ”“ everything but the kitchen sink. It”™s fantastic. (I had been going to order a dish of Spaghetti alla Sinatra but online research after my first visit revealed no evidence that Ol”™ Blue Eyes liked olives or capers, the mainstays of this restaurant”™s version.)
I visit the bathroom. A mistake. The mirror is dirty, the paper towel bin has not been emptied. I don”™t look any further than I can help.
Back in the restaurant ”“ deep breath ”“ I choose Veal “Martini,” two chunky fillets served on an alarmingly black plate, as if we were in mourning. These are not the flattened skinny minis that Francis Albert so loved but are quite delicious nevertheless, sitting on a bed of wilted spinach, with a beautifully composed cream and wine sauce.
And tiramisù is yet another winner, a rich but still featherlight version of the classic Northern Italian dessert that so many get so wrong.
As am I preparing to leave the restaurant, all the lights go out. It could happen anywhere, of course, but somehow it happens here.
With food this good, I want to love Ristorante di Amalfi, but I can”™t quite. What it lacks, what it needs ”“ apart from a cleaner bathroom and a more structured approach to service ”“ is a shot of passion in its arm, because right now it bears little relation to the place, or the spirit of the place, from which it takes its name.
For more, visit ristorantediamalfi.com.
