May 1, 2008
By: Brian Freedman
bfreedman@aroundphilly.com
Once upon a time, bruschetta was exciting. Years ago, during that first flush of fascination that accompanied its arrival on the American food scene, this fresh, often fragrant bread-topping caused a sense of taste-bud titillation that hadn’t been seen since salsa, its South-of-the-Border cousin, made its first big splash on these shores.
But as with so much in life, bruschetta grew tiresome. Both chefs and restaurant-goers eventually stopped paying attention to the little details that made it such a standout in the first place—fresh tomatoes, good olive oil, an appropriate amount of basil—and finally, perhaps inevitably, it had devolved so thoroughly as to occupy a place in the Italian-American food canon that was little more exciting or widely relevant than a jar of Ragu.
Which is what made Le Castagne’s version of it so noteworthy. Though built on the standard base of ingredients, this bruschetta di pollo cast the sum of its parts in an entirely new light by both tweaking the accompanying components and altering the way in which they’re traditionally served.
Here, cubes of ethereally light chicken breast were tossed with pieces of smoked mozzarella the same shape and size, which allowed their individual textures and flavors to grow confused on the palate. As a result, each took on a brand new personality that was both recognizably its own and yet somehow new. Tomatoes and olive oil brought some sweetness to the bruschetta, all of which was served in a bowl lined with little triangular slices of grilled flatbread. The entire thing was simple, straightforward, and hearty, which has always been where this kitchen succeeded most.
Smoked salmon was also made to seem new again. And much like the bruschetta, it, too, used the familiar as a base from which to confound expectations. Combining the grassy tang of goat cheese and the salty, oily nature of smoked salmon is nothing terribly novel. The uniqueness of this dish, mellifluously called spirale di salmone e formaggio caprino, came from the honey–scallion vinaigrette drizzled over it, a touch that amplified both the savory and sweet aspects of the preparation.
Pastas have always been a highlight of Le Castagne’s menu, and the aspect of dining here that hews most closely to the Piedmontese style that is the restaurant’s ostensible inspiration. Le Castagne, in fact, refers to the chestnuts that are such a staple of the cuisine of northwest Italy, and find their way into a number of dishes, including the quasi-eponymous spaghetti alle castagne, perfectly al dente pipes of pasta tossed in a chestnut cream sauce and crowned with a dusting of cocoa powder.
Rigatoni alla boscaiola, toothsome pasta tubes tossed in a hearty taleggio cream sauce with spinach and sweet sausage, though conceived with an entirely different taste experience in mind than the spaghetti, nonetheless exhibited all the restraint and evenhanded construction as the rest of the pastas. Neither the noodle nor the sauce took the lead too dramatically here, which is where most Italian restaurants come up short.
The other classic ingredient of the region, the white truffle, made several appearances throughout the menu, though nowhere so subtly as a recent special of sautéed almond-crusted trout that had been drizzled with a savory-sweet truffle honey. A sense of restraint and a deep understanding of which flavors should be focused on was in evidence here. The sweet-bitterness of the almonds, the perfume of the truffle, the almost impossible moistness of the fish’s flesh, each was calibrated to make the others both stand out on their own and contribute to a whole that was far more striking even than its individual parts.
Even desserts, so often a comedown after a well-prepared Italian meal, maintained the same level of precision as the dishes that had preceded them. In particular, the tiramisu, miraculously as rich as it was light, possessed a flavor profile far more well-defined than the vast majority you’re likely to find in the city; it was a serious step up from the sugary confection so many of them are.
The wine list here is full of the kind of bottles you’re unlikely to see elsewhere. The trick with a list this deep is to break out of your comfort zone and open yourself up to experimenting. When in doubt, ask for help, and be willing to get steered in a direction you’ve never taken before. A recent meal was helped immeasurably, for example, by the bottle of Arneis enjoyed alongside it. It may not have been conventional, but it was excellent with the kind of food I’d ordered. No chardonnay or sauvignon blanc could have compared.
The only missteps here, really, were of the service variety. Waiters, while friendly, occasionally failed to communicate with one another, which resulted in my table’s being approached multiple times for the same thing. This isn’t a big problem on its own, but the handsomeness of the space itself, all glass and wood and white tablecloths, throws these little service snafus into sharper relief than they perhaps would be in a less-attractive space.
Still, there was a sense of comfort here, of family-style warmth that few restaurants of this caliber ever achieve. And having the opportunity to enjoy a meal of this level in an atmosphere that refuses to intimidate is something to savor. From the looks of it—a recent late-Friday meal was enjoyed in the company of a clientele that ran the gamut from the middle-aged Rittenhouse set to the kind of young professionals that are the increasingly important lifeblood of fine-dining restaurants around the region—Le Castagne is becoming an ever more popular part of the city’s dining life.
Che buona fortuna for all of us.
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