ARTVOICE
|
June 7, 2007
By Bridget Kelly
www.artvoice.com
Perfect:
Carmelo's Restaurant
Ordering
something at Carmelo’s was probably the hardest thing
I’ve ever done. Or, more precisely, I should say,
ordering one thing and not ordering all the others. This
menu is aglow with potential. Look around the crowded dining
room, at all the happy diners; watch the trays of food carried
past, each entree more perfect than the last; listen to
the exclamations of delight from the next table, and then
stare at the menu and decide which of these things you will
not order.
The only consolation is that whatever you do order, it will
be perfect. It will be the best whatever it is that you
ever had. As consolations go, that’s not a bad one.
I walked in and was immediately glad I’d called ahead,
an hour or two previous, to make a reservation. It was a
Saturday night and the joint was jumping, though mutedly
and tastefully. We were immediately greeted by Mrs. Carmelo
Sr., known to everyone as Phyllis, so familiarly and exuberantly
that I assumed she was acquainted with my dining companion
and didn’t find out he didn’t actually know
her until well after she’d put her arm gently around
my waist and led us to our table. A couple that came in
just after us had no reservations, but managed to get a
table within a quarter-hour. Still, I’d call ahead.
The place was packed with people, most of whom knew Phyllis,
or seemed to; though, as I observed, it’s hard to
tell. I started with a glass of cabernet, my companion with
a Barbera, and over the fresh, warm, crusty bread and complex,
spicy antipasto they set out for us, we set to perusing
the menu as though it were a sacred text. Prince Edward
Island mussels ($9.50)! Ragu Bolognese [Emilia-Romagna style]
($17)! Peppercorn seared ahi tuna, rare ($20)! Andouille
sausage crusted haddock ($17)! Which ones could I bear not
to eat?
We started off with a couple of salads ($7 each)—mine
was the “Carmelo Salad,” which, far from being
typical, had maple-basil balsamic vinaigrette drizzled over
Gorgonzola cheese, yam sticks and mixed greens. It sounds
odd but made perfect sense. Indeed, this is an overarching
theme of the food here: No matter how odd it sounds, when
you get it and taste it, it makes perfect sense. My companion’s
salad consisted of a unique combination: roasted beets and
goat cheese. But of course, they were perfect together.
We had a foccaccia ($7.50) for an appetizer. Continuing
the theme of Gorgonzola cheese, of which the chef is justifiably
fond, it also had caramelized onions and fresh crushed thyme,
atop an absolutely perfect crust—puffy yet firm, dissolving
into a harmony of flavors with the toppings.
My companion had the Tuscan tortellini ($24), which incorporates
scallops, shrimp, tomatoes, capers and calamata olives in
an almond pesto sherry sauce. A tempting description, but
it cannot convey to you the fact that the shrimp will be
so perfectly done that they burst when you bite them, that
the scallops likewise will be tender but moist and toothsome.
My companion sat, fork in hand, and actually dithered over
which piece to eat, because he was trying to decide which
piece to save for last. Each component was so perfect, so
exquisite, so lovely, that he did not want to finish it,
but he could not bear to stop eating.
Meanwhile I had ordered the Blu Berry Filet ($35), a grilled
eight-ounce filet topped with a balsamic blueberry reduction.
Who would think to put blueberries on steak? But apparently
they do it that way in Tuscany, and they are not fools,
because it was a perfect pairing. Blueberries naturally
have a very subtle smoky undertone of flavor, which is absolutely
transcendental when paired with a tender, rare steak, very
slightly seared on the outside and just barely bleeding
on the inside.
After such a holy experience as our entrees, it seemed almost
silly to ask for dessert. What could dessert possibly offer
after such perfection? But I’d had half my steak wrapped
to take home, expressly to save room for dessert, because
Phyllis makes many of the desserts herself, and I thought
for the sake of completeness I really ought to try one.
My companion protested that he was too full so he’d
just try some of mine, until I pointed out that the dessert
menu included a bosc pear glazed with basil-infused honey
and stuffed with bleu cheese, then baked.
He couldn’t not order that. I had the tiramisu because
everything else had been so good, I had to see what they
did with something so traditional. It was perfect—light
and fluffy, espressoey and rich. I had a glass of vin santo
along with it, which was rosy and sweet and delicate, the
perfect endcap to a perfect meal. But my guest’s pear—his
pear was like nothing either of us had ever had before.
The pear itself was tender, delectable, sweet, but paired
with the bleu cheese it was spectacular. It was a savory-sweet
herby fruit concoction that set off my vin santo beautifully.
It’s a bit of a hike up to Lewiston, but now’s
the season to do it. You won’t find anything like
this in Buffalo. And young Carmelo himself is as much a
treat as his restaurant—self-taught, passionate, experimental,
but with excellent instincts, he dances to his own beat
without ever putting a foot wrong. He strives for an impressionistic
experience, putting the ingredients like daubs of paint
on top of one another with finesse but no artificial polish,
so that when you taste them, and step back, it is exactly
what food should be. He loves what he does, and it shows. 
