Scott Conants’s calamarata pasta; mushroom ragu and lush polenta behind.  Photo: Steven Richter

       As for Conant, off the radar (except for a stint in Sag Harbor) since he abandoned his three-star mooring at l’Impero last April, the master of rustic Italian simplicity rightly believes fans have hungered for his mushroom fricassee to spoon over voluptuously rich polenta, his crispy fritto misto and juicy short ribs nesting in farro risotto, now that he’s set up shop behind the oddly vintage facade that fronted Gin Lane so briefly, around the corner from Old Homestead.  That polenta may well inspire you to reach for a scarpetta, dialect for the piece of bread you use to wipe up the last bit of sauce.  

That’s Scott Conant checking out traffic at the bar. Photo: Steven Richter

        What I do like is that Conant has assembled a core of veteran old school captains who sweep in to dispatch clueless bus boys as they stare blankly and smile sweetly when you ask for more water or an extra spoon.

Fritto misto for the table to share; that truffled polenta behind.  Photo: Steven Richter

              

Key lime-torrone “cheesecake.” Photo: Steven Richter

Tonight – it’s opening week after friends and family warmups – I’m impressed with both soups, borlotti bean with pancetta and chickpea porridge with sausage and cabbage, though they ought to arrive hotter. Ribbons of marinated eggplant, Scott’s grandmother’s recipe, our captain confides, comes piled alongside buttery burrata.  Imported pasta rings called calamarata with mixed seafood, tangy sea urchin and a dusting of minted bread crumbs is even lusher than I remember. Conant sends out an extra of meticulously seared scallops on sunchoke puree, so much better than his signature capretto I had to have in honor of great dinners at L’Impero. Alas, it’s not as juicy as it can be. Crusty roasted chicken on parsnip puree comes with a delicious sauce, thickened with liver, chopped almond and currents. I spoon some on my goat. It helps.

        Another perk from the kitchen, bufala ricotta sitting on black pepper-sprinkled-truffle-honey is a roller coaster of sensuousness.  It comes with a small bowl of the hard round crackers called tarelle, baked in-house from another Nonna Conant recipe. You might be tempted at this point to skip a dolce.  Reconsider.  These are happily old fashioned desserts with no herbal intrusions on molecular manipulations, like plum crostata with Port-stewed figs, Amadei chocolate cake with burnt orange-caramel gelato and a key lime and torronne “cheesecake” with citrus salad.  In a world that encourages thyme walnut gelato, cilantro parfait and apple leather, that restraint gives me hope.

355 West 14th Street at 9th Avenue. 212 691 3495

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Vino Seeks to Amuse the Neighborhood

Vintage Italian movies and $4 wines are the draw at Vino. Photo: Steven Richter.

        The small plate menu offers salads, carpaccios, Florentine omelet, stewed baby octopus or a small lasagna, even sandwiches (foccacine). Stick with platters of cured meats or cheeses with toasted Tuscan bread – or an order of garlicky fettunta – to feed a flight of Euros.

1268 Second Avenue between 66th and 67th Streets. 212 744 5370

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