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Abruzzi's Abruzzi's is alive and well, twirling lotsa pasta on the South Side. Hours: Mon.-Thurs. 11 a.m.-10 p.m.;
Chow, Bella "We're there," I huffed to my husband, Brad, my curiosity stoked as we hurried home. Mere hours later, we were seated in the yellow room that faces the green room that faces the pumpkin-orange room from where, if you squint just right, you can look past the parking lot hugging the Mon and lose yourself in an impressive Pittsburgh night vista - the illuminated rim of Mount Washington.
After 12 fruitful years in a teeny old house famous for its teeny three-seater bar and giant meatballs, Abruzzi's is alive and well on the South Side end of the 10th Street Bridge, just 50 feet from its prior incarnation. Citified, upbeat, hip and a bit mischievous, Abruzzi's boasts a child's shiny, black grand piano as its crowning whimsy. Architect Felix Fukui, of Fukui Architects downtown, has created fantastical lines, curves and porthole openings that flow from one room into another, with gorgeous wooden arches that reach to the ceiling. Bright colors and smart lighting could substitute for the sun on a gloomy day. Though you won't recognize it from the outside, the whole production - chef Mark Burnis, the closely knit staff, the oversized menu - is all there inside. Most important, so is owner Tony Masci, whose original restaurant was a great little place to slurp spaghetti and escape the world. With his Cheshire grin and dreamy, heavily lidded eyes, he has a knack for making you feel at home. Jumping from a barstool, Masci put his arm around my shoulder in his oh-so-very-Italian way and began to personally steer us to a table, making an interim stop in the foyer, which, save for electrifying blue walls, could have been his den at home. A large hutch is packed with books and CDs - "My stuff," he reveals - and I can picture him in his hangout, entertaining, if not leafing through well-worn cookbooks, with an eye on the full-scale bar (14 stools and four or five high-tops). After so many years in the always-risky restaurant business, it is obvious that Masci anticipated logging in long hours and wisely created his own great escape. "We won't let you leave hungry," our waiter affirmed with a wink when he delivered our starchy indulgences. No matter what you order, have a meatball. This, directly from the horse's mouth. Masci and his mother, Maria Masci, used to set up flea-market tables in coastal Abruzzi, vending sausage and meatball sandwiches before they came to America when Tony was 8. I'll stop here to say that even though oversized portions are one of my pet peeves, I'll make an exception for trailblazing Italian, stemming from a fond memory of an ex-boyfriend's Italian grandmother. Well into her 70s, this delightful woman drove like a bank robber, always had a gin and tonic in one hand while stirring a bubbling pot of sauce with the other - just in case a party of eight might show up at 2 a.m. It's tradition. Ask, just ask, if you desire smaller portions. Abruzzi's breaks its Herculean menu into convenient sections so you can follow your instincts categorically. That said, entrees include soup or salad and a side of pasta. Chicken pastina soup is wonderful, permeating the bones with a medicinal warmth. Savory broth, lovely spicing, shredded chicken and tiny pastina slip down your throat, gone before you know it. It's a drag to eat tomatoes now, so we chose gorgonzola con noci salad, made with mixed greens, a judicious sprinkling of walnuts - noci means "walnut" in Italian - and good gorgonzola. Cut fresh, the gorgonzola crumbles nicely by itself, making a world of difference. Masci has fiddled with the famed secret Pasta Piatto recipe for Italian dressing, a beloved legend from the now-defunct Shadyside restaurant, using tarragon instead of red-wine vinegar. It's no surprise that Masci knows the recipe, since he used to be a manager and waiter at Piatto's, and is friends with former-proprietors Linda and Frank Jeannette. I might have either skipped appetizers or deemed them as meals if I hadn't been on a reviewing mission. Zucchini con patate, recommended by our server, scrambles fresh zucchini sautéed in olive oil with lots of basil and boiled potatoes - not a bit greasy - and cheerfully finished with plum-tomato sauce. Another night, our waiter insisted fungi alla griglia con granchio (portobello mushrooms marinated in balsamic vinegar) was the way to go. Portobellos have circuitously become "hot" again, and here, they are thick and meaty, spilling with creamy rich crab and gorgonzola - irresistible, the way a potato chip is irresistible.
Mix and match long or short pasta with any of three signature sauces: slow-cooked meat-based tomato, a lighter seafood-based marinara or fresh vegetarian plum tomato. Topping the list of customer favorites is a somewhat homely gnocchi. The chef adds ricotta to the potatoes for a light touch. With a sharp, creamy filling and lusty marinara, it's a truly savory Italian dish. A simple plate of spaghetti and meatballs, an adult version of the beloved childhood favorite, is never tiresome. Linguine with white clam sauce is almost better as leftovers, reheated in an iron skillet the next morning. And think about applying the sultry dijon, cream and cognac sauce Masci borrowed from a French chef many moons ago to seafood or chicken instead of New York strip. The house maintains a "we can, we will" philosophy. Call a day in advance for roast rabbit, Abruzzi-style, a dish with a cult following, slow-roasted with white wine and potatoes. If you're not in a starchy mood, zuppa di pesce, the traditional Italian bouillabaisse with the traditional goodies - scrod, shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels and calamari - is mild and mellow, and it's served with pasta, with oil and garlic on the side. Veal piccata-style in white wine, butter and lemon, tender and reeling with mushrooms, is wonderful, as is an herbaceous baby rack of New Zealand lamb with pink interiors. A world of care goes into the food. "The fun of feeding people is the best part of the restaurant business," says veteran Masci, unjaded after all these years. I could see the wisdom in the deli man's suggestion to the couple in the Italian groceria. Though January is a bleak phase of the seasons, this formerly gritty, steel-making river has become a sweet little corner of the world, and Abruzzi's, perched right there, shined up and humming, is a natural antidepressant.
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Each month, Deborah McDonald jump-starts appetites with lively restaurant reviews that scrutinize who's cooking what and where. She works anonymously, visiting each restaurant at least twice before writing her column. Do you know of a restaurant you'd like to have reviewed? | ||
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