It was one of my favorite trattorias when I lived here from
1995-1998, and it is one of my favorite trattorias today. The place is virtually the same, with only
some recent renovations including a few new fresco-type paintings on the
wall. The food is the same – delicious,
authentic, and awesome.
The people are all the same.
The same family who ran the place then, runs the place now - same women
working the coffee bar, same guy preparing meals in the kitchen (one of the
owners/brothers), same guy working the pizza oven (another one of the
owners/brothers), same guys serving the tables (the nephews). There are three generations of “Angelo’s”
working there.
The family is from Amalfi and they are very, very proud to
be from Amalfi. Of course, Amalfi has
the best food, the best sea, the best life.
And oh, mamma mia, if they ever have anything on the menu “al Amalfitana”,
order it. Trust me.
Like a lot of places in the area, they offer a fixed lunch
menu for 11 Euro. For 11 Euro you get: ½
liter of bottled water (natural or frizzante), ¼ liter of house wine (always a
bit more for me, because they know me), a basket bread, a first course (usually
pasta), a second course (usually meat or seafood), a side (which can be a large
mixed salad, cooked/roasted seasonal vegetables, or potatoes prepared different
ways), and an after-lunch coffee (Italian style, of course). No tip, no tax. Total
= 11 Euro.
Now, let me try to explain what that really means. Yesterday, I ordered one of my favorite pasta
dishes, penne alla arrabiata. It comes
out on a huge plate, perfectly made pasta (not too soft or chewy like too often
in the U.S.), plenty of sauce with actual chunks of cherry tomatoes and a
healthy amount of olive oil, and piping hot.
It’s served with freshly grated parmigiano – not the uniformly-grated
supermarket stuff, but the fresh stuff that has little chunks and flakes of
cheese in it from being grated by hand.
And because they know me, they automatically bring me some of their
homemade olio piccante – spicy olive oil that comes in what looks to be a
re-used olive jar, which has been marinating with a bunch of hot peppers still
in the jar, where you use a teaspoon to spoon out as much as you want and
drizzle it over your plate of hot, flavorful pasta. So good!
So good, in fact, that it is only natural to take some of that fresh
bread and sop-up all of the oil and tomato sauce and essence that’s left behind
after the pasta is gone. Oh my Lord, I
am going to miss that simple dish when we leave here.
That’s just the first course. Also remember that we are still talking about
a random, weekday lunch.
The salad is delivered.
It is a big glass bowl of fresh, green lettuce - the kind of green
lettuce you’d see coming out of your grandmother’s garden. Flavorful tomatoes. Shredded carrots. No need for a bath of dressing. Just lettuce, tomato, and carrot with real extra-virgin olive oil and a little
splash of balsamico. Why does a simple
mixed salad taste so much better here?
Now the second course.
Normally, I order the mussels. A
big, hot plate of plumb, beautiful mussels that have been perfectly prepared. Normally, I save room to take a couple pieces
of that delicious soft bread and soak-up as much of that lemony, garlicy, peppery,
seafoody scrumptiousness of liquid that sits in the bottom of my plate. Not today.
That’s normally a Friday special and today is Monday.
Today, my friend and waiter, Pasquale, started given us our
choices. The fixed menu doesn’t come
with a menu, but usually 3 or 4 choices for each course given to you verbally
at your table. The first choice he
offered was “Pesce Almafitana” which is fish served with roasted black olives,
roasted cherry tomatoes, olive oil, lemon, capers, and roasted garlic. I told him he could stop right there.
What he delivered was a thing of beauty. It was a plate the size of a small pizza with
a large salmon fillet, a trout-like fish served whole (head and tail attached),
another large chunk of salmon, and another large chunk of white fish. The olives were to die for. The roasted garlic. The capers.
The cherry tomatoes that just oozed flavor so well-suited with the olive
oil. The fish was perfectly prepared,
not over-cooked, but flaky, tender, moist, and full of flavor. It was a feast. That plate alone, served at any decent
restaurant in the U.S. is at least a $22 entrée, and I doubt that it would be
prepared that well and taste that good.
The table wine isn’t great, but it isn’t awful, and there’s
plenty of it. Then, after lunch comes
the obligatory coffee, an Italian style espresso that is believed to be a
digestive (digestive), but also serves to coat the palette like melted dark
chocolate.
Speaking of chocolate, lunch doesn’t come with dessert. The strange part, though, dessert doesn’t
even occur to me. It’s just not
needed. In fact, it’s only now that I
think about how healthy that meal was.
It was the classic “Mediterranean Diet” meal, but without the label or
promotion or trendiness or marketing.
I gave big “complimenti” to Angelo (the elder) and he gave
me the wink and the nod and the pinched fingers to the pursed lips sign
meaning, “yeah buddy, I hooked you up, didn’t I?”
How many meals do you finish and think, “I can’t let these
people charge me so little for what they just served me”? 11 Euro…for everything? Come on!
The kicker is that for these folks, their real gratification comes not
(just) from the profit, but instead from the appreciation of their effort and
their craft. They enjoy serving good food,
made in the style of their home region, and have it appreciated by the people
who come to their restaurant. For all of
the American in me, it is so nice to have this simple joy of anti-commercialism
woven into the day.
And my description of Da Angelo’s cannot be complete without
two other side notes:
1. My friend and waiter, Pasquale – his name
translates to “Easter”. His brother is
named Natale for “Christmas”.
2.
Giovanni is the big, loud, ultra-gregarious
cook. He is the prototypical large
Italian personality in a family restaurant, who everyone knows and who treats
you like a favorite Godfather from the moment he meets you. With so much love and generosity and
Almalfitana pride, you are forced to excuse him for the big, double-cheeked
kiss greetings he gives you (men too!) that leaves you a little scratched from
the stubble on his face and sopping wet from his sweat. Summertime is particularly bad with the
sweat. The first time I took my parents
there and introduced them to Giovanni, he made such a production out of
greeting them, and took my Mom by such complete shock with his bear hug and
big, sweaty kisses (it was summertime), that I honestly thought she was about
to scream and/or pee herself.
ct
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