“We don’t have specials,” said our server as he handed us our menus. “The chef doesn’t believe in them.”
Sure, I’m thinking, eyes poised to roll. Because it’s all special, right?
“It’s all special,” he finished.
I raised my brow at my dinner companion. Hadn’t I heard this line before, many times? Hadn’t it been baloney?
And what does “special” really mean, anyway?
Well, at Luca d’Italia, a tony neighborhood bistro serving elegant and soulful Italian food in Governor’s Park, it’s not a line, and it’s not baloney.
Our server spoke the truth. Just about everything about Luca – including the bologna (or rather, the housemade salumi plate, a proud lineup that includes bologna’s more rarefied and spicier cousins soppressata and capicolla) – was satisfying, memorable and expertly done.
In a word, special.
Take, for example, the out-front staff at Luca (servers, bartenders, hosts), a classy, personable and polished crew. They’re well-equipped to answer the questions you’ll doubtless have about the tongue- twisting Italian words on the menu (and wine list) without a hint of condescension or doubt. So, ask. When you have a resource like a knowledgeable waiter at your disposal, use it.
Water glasses at Luca are topped off before you realize you’re low. Plates and crumbs are cleared when everyone’s finished and not a moment before. You’re shown the way to the restroom before you have to inquire. You’re taken care of here – never rushed, but never abandoned.
But as good as the service is, food rules at Luca. This stuff is obviously prepared by someone who loves not just to cook, but who loves to eat. Simple, evocative, romantic dishes flow steadily to your table, almost all of them, well, special.
First, there is bread, usually three kinds, including breadsticks). Fresh and warm on all visits, and served with a saucer of grass-green olive oil for dipping. (If you ask for butter, like I did, you’ll get it.)
Next, the roasted-mushroom appetizer. It had everything you could want in a winter dish: A soft bed of steamy, soft, buttery polenta, a shaving of salty pecorino, a pile of loamy, deep-woods mushrooms, and a supple, soft- cooked egg, bursting with a runny yolk just begging to leak its way into that polenta.
It’s not a revelation, this appetizer. Not a victory of relentless experimentation in the kitchen. Instead it’s an eye- closing, sigh-spurring, shoulder-sinking, butt-melding-into-the-chair relief of a dish. Homey, refined and id- pleasing, it shows just why Italian cuisine can be so inspiring and addictive: Exquisite ingredients (great mushrooms, perfect eggs, quality polenta) are allowed to maintain their individual characters, even when they’re bound together on the plate. Inspiring. It made me want to go home and cook.
Suggestion: Guard this dish carefully. Share one bite with your dining partner, then move the dish close to your torso, wrap your arm around it like a smart kid trying to keep your classmates from copying, and slowly, methodically, devour the rest of it by yourself.
The roasted trout also stood out, and up. The fillet was rolled into a pillar, crackly-crispy skin on the outside, succulent flesh on the inside, then plunged vertically into a shallow, frothy white pool of creamed fennel speckled with dill. It was almost period in the 80s-ness of its architectural, totally tubular presentation, but once I’d wrestled it down, sliced it in half, and taken my first bite, I understood just how simple it really was: The freshwater flavor of trout, the impossible winter-freshness of fennel, the luxury of the cream.
Warning: The items I’ve described may not be available at Luca on the night you dine. The menu, tied to the seasons, changes frequently. That’s just how they roll at Luca.
One dish that doesn’t seem to go away, thankfully, is the meatball appetizer: Delicate but filling, braised until perfectly soft, and served with caramelized onions and tomato sauce (called tomato gravy on this menu, making me wonder if these guys are from Staten Island or what). The only drawback to the meatballs? They aren’t offered as a main course. So to make a meal of them you’ll have to order two portions of the appetizer.
Potato gnocchi with lump crab meat and lobster sauce was plush, sweet and filling, littered with grassy green basil for balance. Braised duck ravioli with dried cherry and rosemary is a sweet-savory couples dance. The spunky agnolotti with gorgonzola and pine nuts skillfully shows off Luca’s light homemade pasta. “Brick chicken” would have been better if the skin had been as crispy as the trout’s, but the orzo with green olive and tomato that it sat next to was loaded with sultry Mediterranean flavor.
Not quite as special (or memorable) were the crostini that appeared at the table, unordered, as an antipasti. On one visit, they were a gummy mess of zucchini, pine nuts and radicchio. On another, a perplexing mash of underseasoned cauliflower. Panzanella with tomatoes, roasted peppers and capers was tasty, but typical. Also falling flat, the pappardelle Bolognese, with its too-sweet ragu of wild boar, and the tagliatelle with braised short rib and veal reduction, kingly and deep at first bite, but just too rich by the second.
The spinach salad was better, crisp and lightly dressed, with a hint of pancetta in the vinaigrette. I liked it, but my vegetarian dining companion disagreed. She had a tough time ordering at Luca. In fact, non-fish-eating vegetarians will find almost nothing on the menu, and vegans will be forced to stick to wine.
Note to Luca: No fair. Add some vegetarian-friendly dishes to the menu.
About Luca’s wine list: It’s comprehensive, layered, thoughtful, appropriate … and exclusively Italian. You’ll find many recognizable favorites, like chiantis and pinot grigios, and lots of lofty (and loftily-priced) Barolos and Brunellos. But there are also plenty of unique, and more affordable, bottles, like a Rose di Regaleali from Sicily ($25), or a La Carraia Sangiovese from Umbria ($28). Half-bottles and flights are available too.
The most special thing about this wine list? The informed attention you’ll receive from your server when you’re choosing. Ask for help.
For dessert, choose one of Luca’s decadent sorbets or the velvety panna cotta. The tiramisu is also a good bet, but if you ask me, it could use another hit of booze.
I’m not a great fan of Luca’s dining room, which with its hard aluminum chairs and stark walls feels a little too modern and chilly for the menu. There’s some pretty cool art hanging around, and the room is spacious and well-tempered acoustically, but I wish the décor were warmer, less sleek, softer … more like Luca’s food. More special.
Another thing about Luca’s room: I’ve never seen it completely full on a weeknight. This is a good thing for wanderers-in who don’t have reservations (quick tip: come on a Tuesday), but at times I have found myself wishing for a livelier dining room.
One thing to be clear about: A meal at Luca d’Italia is no bargain. Appetizers run from $8-$12, entrées from $18-$30. But this is what sets Luca apart: More often than not, they deliver on the promise of their prices. Wrapping up a $100 bill for two at the end of the night won’t feel like a rip- off, even if you saved up for it.
After all, that was a pretty special dinner.
Dining critic Tucker Shaw can be reached at 303-820-1958 or at dining@denverpost.com.
Luca d’Italia Italian
711 Grant St., 303-832-6600
|*** |Great
Atmosphere: Urbane but welcoming neighborhood restaurant with plenty of conversation-inducing art and a small bar area. A good date restaurant.
Service: Agreeable, helpful, accommodating and efficient.
Plates: Appetizers, $8-$15. Entrees, $18-$30.
Hours: Tuesday-Saturday 5-10 p.m.
Details: All major credit cards accepted. Reservations highly recommended. Wheelchair accessible. Street parking, or complimentary valet service at Mizuna next door. Not great for kids.
Four visits.
Our star system:
****: Exceptional.
***: Great.
**: Very good.
*: Good.
No stars: Needs work.
