Carmine endures.
As I handed it to him I wondered what has happened to me at Manhattan restaurants to merit this level of paranoia. I thought about it for a second and came up with a theory: Going to a restaurant that's been hyped can be scary. Walking into a place that has received as much positive buzz as 50 Carmine can leave a person thinking that perhaps she should leave her opinions at the door. As much as hype can draw patrons into a restaurant's stratosphere, it can be as alienating as it is alluring. Because if a restaurant doesn't live up to the praise, does your opinion really count?
Of course it does. But thankfully, a nice glass of Turlo at the bar shook me out of my train of thought long enough to begin to enjoy myself. I took a sip, removed my baseball cap and took a good look around. What was I so concerned about? 50 Carmine is nothing if not accessible. The interior, relatively small with paper-covered tables and not much else to distinguish it, was fairly generic. There was no discernable theme, nor was there a decorative scheme. There wasn't even a hostess stand. The most outwardly artistic flourish were a few fresh tarts stacked in a cake stand that appeared to be our choices of desserts for the evening.
Rustic, fragrant and there for all to see, the sweets on the bar were emblematic of the straightforward experience to follow. Contrary to the inherent nature of hype, which is to stir up excitement to make up for a lack of substance, there were no tricks; nothing hidden or overemphasized at Carmine. The food is just plainly, indisputably good?solid, flavorful, sometimes luxurious preparations of regional Italian dishes.
The great irony here is that 50 Carmine is an ostensibly "anti-smoke-and-mirrors" (in the words of Chef Sarah Jenkins) restaurant that has been processed by the hype machine. The presence of Jenkins, who has acquired quite the following with her clear-cut style and understanding of process and flavor, is what got the food press all hot and bothered to begin with?and with good reason. Her dishes are what they are, with a little something extra?skill. The zuppa di pesce ($22), Roman-style fish stew, is a great example of what expertise can impart to a simple dish. The thick broth, with wholesome pieces of steaming cod, plump mussels and pliant, meaty octopus, has levels of flavor that make this otherwise frank concoction a mystery. The broth has such presence that you can almost chew it.
The other dishes were equally straightforward, inspiring the same question: "How did she do that using only those ingredients?" In one of my favorites, pappardelle with wild boar ragu ($17), each morsel of meat?cooked out with red wine?was succulent, rich and tasty. Together with the pasta?thick elastic strips slippery with butter?the synthesis was excellent. The potato gnocchi with duck ragu ($14), which my dining companions preferred over the pappardelle, was equally saturated with flavor. The gnocchi were light but chewy, and the duck ragu was resplendent with layers of taste that could only come from hours of slow cooking.
Another favorite was the guinea hen with potatoes, bacon and sweet Tuscan wine ($24). I prefer guinea hen to chicken. The best way that I can describe it is that guinea hen tastes like dark meat. The flesh is somehow smoother, more condensed, and has a more concentrated flavor than that of a chicken. The legs, which tend to be tough, were braised, and the breast was served seared. This dish was an amazing testament (not as if we needed another one) to the pleasures of fat. Everywhere in this dish was the taste of it, hot and crackling: in the browned, thick layer of skin on the breast, in the squiggles of the fantastically good Niman ranch applewood bacon, in the grease-soaked potato slices that were fried in smoky bacon fat.
Though none were as thrilling as the guinea hen, the other entrees met a high standard. The filet of cod with red wine sauce ($20) was served with butter-rich yellow carrots and luscious roasted cipollini onions that were so sweet you could snack on them. The red wine sauce was reduced to almost a syrupy consistency, cooked with red onions and drizzled over the plate. The only element that was amiss was the cod. Not because it wasn't well-prepared, but such a humble fish seemed mismatched with the elegant sauce and sides.
The requisite steak, a rare sirloin served in pink slices under a bed of arugula and shaved Parmesan ($30) was very good, but like so many others, seemed obligatory on this menu. A bottle of Morellino di Scansano ($32), one of many nice, reasonably priced bottles, suited our choices.
To round out the meal, we tried the tangerine olive oil cake ($7), which experienced a mixed reception at our table. It was a scented sponge served with a dollop of lightly sweetened whipped cream. One of my companions loved it, but he also admitted that he isn't much of a dessert person. My other friend, who craves something more "desserty" after a meal, thought it would be better suited for breakfast. (This style of cake is likely to be seen at a breakfast in Italy.)
Though the food was delicious, the best aspect of dining at 50 Carmine was witnessing a high level of skill displayed at what is essentially a neighborhood restaurant. The décor may be bland, but talent and service can make a simple place sing.