Crisp White Table Linens and Formality--Now That’s Italian

Some years ago, an amateur critic offered a memorable review of a minor Italian restaurant in a San Diego suburb.

The fellow said that, when he drove up and saw that the restaurant occupied a former bank building, he wondered whether he dared risk his palate at a location of such dubious culinary lineage.

“When I saw that it used to be a bank, I asked myself how the place could be authentic,” he said. He went on to add, however, that his fears were allayed by what he found inside. “As soon as I saw the red-and-white checkered tablecloths, I knew it had to be authentic.”

The tablecloths at Baci’s on Morena Boulevard are a starched, gleaming white, but, even so, you can gamble your bank deposit that this is one of the more authentic Italian eateries you’re likely to find within the San Diego city limits.

It is always a pleasure to return to Baci’s, although lately it has proven a most rare pleasure--a couple of recent visits were the first in three or four years. The restaurant has led an interesting life in that time; several years ago, when it was on the brink of reopening after an extensive remodeling, it instead suffered a major fire and had to undergo a second and even more extensive renovation.

The work resulted in a series of small, formal dining rooms that lead back to the most intimate of all, a cream-colored alcove that offers several deep, soft and very private banquettes. The decor in all rooms is simple but attractive and gives the impression that the eyes are meant to be distracted primarily by the kitchen’s handiworks.

Another of the great pleasures at Baci’s is the service, which seems generally reliable but is often superb. A couple of the most experienced waiters exhibit the easy authority that comes both from knowledge of the rules--details are managed with some formality--and from knowledge of the little tricks that bring delighted smiles to customers’ faces.

One server helped select a meal by stopping to exhibit plates of the evening’s specials that he was serving to a nearby table. “Once you’ve seen these, you won’t order anything else,” he said with great assurance, and, as things turned out, he was right.

Covers the Whole Boot

The presence of an occasional cream sauce on the menu (especially among the pastas) might lead some to suppose that the menu is Northern Italian, but the bill of fare actually takes a broad look at the peninsula’s cooking and covers it from the top of the boot to its tip. The appetizer list, for example, includes the prosciutto-and-melon combination that is popular throughout Italy, as well as the mozzarella, tomato and basil salad that claims many devotees in Rome and Naples. One particularly classy combo pairs shavings of bresaola , the air-cured beef from the Italian Alps, with leaves of arugula, the bewitchingly bitter green that is half herb, half lettuce. Ostriche alla Baci tops oysters with a combination of sauce bearnaise, pesto and dry anisette liqueur; the intensely herbal effect recalls that of the French-inspired oysters Rockefeller, but the choice of herbs gives the dish a distinctively Italian accent.

The soups and salads hold relatively less interest, although there was much to admire about a hearts of palm salad that had been arranged to look like a tropical landscape.

The pasta list starts off with crespelle Fiorentina, an unusually rich preparation given Florence’s austere tastes; it stuffs crepes with ricotta and Parmesan cheeses and spinach, and douses them lavishly with the satiny becciamella (white sauce) that the Italians make so much more expertly than the French. The increasingly popular penne arrabiata (macaroni with tomatoes, garlic and hot red pepper) and penne quattro formaggi (pasta tubes in a creamy sauce of Fontina, Gorgonzola, mozzarella and Parmesan) appear alongside such standbys as linguine in clam sauce and fettuccine Alfredo.

The tortellini Gorgonzola adds walnuts, a popular pasta flavoring in Northern Italy, to the cheese mixture that stuffs these ring-shaped dumplings; a half-order of this rich dish makes a fine preface to one of the simpler meat entrees.

Waiter Was Thanked

The waiter of one visit made a point of selling the table both of the evening’s specials, and received thanks for doing so. The first was a classic osso buco , a meaty section of veal shank braised in tomato, stock and wine and infused with the flavors of garlic, parsley and a teasing hint of lemon. This dish requires lengthy cooking, but overdoing it will render the meat dry; the timing on this one was just right. Ever-so-slightly rubbery saffron risotto , or short-grained rice prepared exactly as they like it in Milan, was the traditional and delicious accompaniment.

The second special was a rarity for an Italian restaurant in this area, a single, giant sweetbread lobe lightly crisped in hot butter and finished quite beautifully with cream, brandy, mushrooms, basil and bits of prosciutto. The sauce was light, and ideal for the rich, superbly tender meat.

Sweetbreads remain a misunderstood commodity in this country, and hence appear infrequently because people suppose the term to be a euphemism for assorted unappealing innards. They are in fact the thymus gland, and in Europe they command a stiff price at both butcher shops and restaurants.

The sweetbread sauce was a variation on the sauce that dresses the standing menu’s lombata porcini , a veal chop finished with forest mushrooms, Cognac, shallots and a touch of cream. The kitchen handled the meat deftly--chops, at the other end of the thickness range from scaloppine, require longer cooking and can become tough.

A Taste for Chocolate

The entree list extends beyond veal to offer swordfish with pesto and a fish of the day; a chicken rusticano (“country-style”) that includes artichokes in its garnish; shrimp in garlic sauce and, for die-hards, a couple of steaks.

The pastry cook evidently has quite a taste for chocolate, because the dessert tray offers several chocolate fantasies. Notable among them is a grainy type of chocolate terrine, served in a slab like a slice of poundcake. Similar to a firm mousse, it takes its distinctive texture from ground hazelnuts. The combination seems quite by design; Perugina, one of the leading Italian confectioners, sells chocolate kisses that hide whole hazelnuts in their hearts. Like the restaurant, these famous sweets go by the name of Baci.