More Carbs

Believe it or not, the nutritionist I saw yesterday actually told me I was eating too few carbs.  I know this seems incredible, given my penchant for pizza, but the truth is my days revolve around veggies and lean protein.  Dr. Atkins scared the bejeesus out of all of us.  

To remedy my carbohydrate drought, I went for white flour (not the nutritionist's suggestion, I assure you) at Al Di La, the Park Slope restaurant that seems always to have a line snaking around the corner down Fifth Avenue.  The restaurant and wine bar down the block (on Carroll Street, in case you were wondering) both serve the same menu.  We ate at the wine bar's bar because, well, we weren't in the mood to wait long. 

A beef carpaccio was made with high-quality beef and came topped with shaved parmesan and whole anchovies.  I'm not the biggest anchovy fan in the world, so I let my dining partner eat them while I stuck to the dish's other adornment, capers.  Mussels were served in a rich and tomatoey broth, but the best part of the dish was a crusty piece of bread snuck beneath bivalves, absorbing all of the elements a nutritionist would say are better left uneaten.  Oh, well. 

For my fellow diner, a rich and creamy tagliatelle with ragu.  It tasted kind of Hamburger Helper-ish, but in a good way.  My spaghetti with clams (finally!) did not disappoint.  The large and briny Manilas were judiciously scattered and I didn't find even one empty shell.  The pasta itself was al dente and swimming in oil and chili flakes.  I returned my plate to the bartender with a half cup of pasta remaining.  "You left the pasta," he said.  "You know, that stuff at the end really is the most unhealthy part.  But it's also the tastiest."  Maybe so, but after all that white flour I didn't really need a full cup of oil.  

And we passed on dessert, but next time I would likely order any of the cheese-based delights on the small menu. 

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Al Di La

248 5th Avenue 

Brooklyn, NY 11215

718.783.4565

Bar Seats

At Dell'Anima, the downtown late-night hot spot that everyone keeps telling me to visit, the worsening economy has not reared its ugly heads.  We entered a fairly empty dining room a little past one in the morning and sat at the kitchen bar.  That is, the line of seats directly in front of the chef.  You can watch the grill and pasta stations as you eat.  

The chef, a friend of my dining companion, informed us that the restaurant had served a staggering 200 people.  On a Sunday night.  In March.  Few restaurants have the loyal following of this one.  No ornery disposition followed us into our late-night meal.  I appreciated that.  All too often, I've been the server on the opposite side, livid at the nerve of the diner before me eating well after normal human hours. 

We ordered four dishes, ate six.  Grilled sweetbreads arrived amidst a fennel marmalade and parsley root puree.  The sweetbreads, unadorned by the familiar trappings of batter and oil, were soft, clean, and delicate. 

Next came Brussels sprouts and a farm egg with lardon.  The egg was runny and bled gooey innards over tender sprouts.  I hated sprouts until last year.  I don't know what took me so long to come around.  

Paper-thin ravioli stuffed with a blood-red beet puree.  Poppy seeds.  Brown butter.  

Homemade tagliatelle (flour-free diet be damned!) with bolognese.  Pliable, toothsome pasta, yolk yellow.  Perfect. 

Gnocchi with oxtail ragu, mirepoix, perfect celery leaves.  

Finally, the most perfect dish of all: skin-on orata (seabream) cooked en papillote with green and black olives, fresh thyme, fingerling potatoes, and lemon.  

They charged us for our lambrusco and amaro.  Where had the food disappeared?  The six-course meal, in all its delicacy and impeccable execution, had been sent out to us for free.  

But I would have paid, and been happy to do so.  And I'll definitely be back. 

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Dell'Anima

38 8th Avenue 

New York, NY 10014