The bread basket is the first evidence that Ristorante da Piero is not a conventional New Orleans Italian restaurant. At first glance, the contents look like triangular cuts of pita or thick pieces of fresh-made tortilla. But it's piadina, a flat bread that's a specialty in Italy's Romagna region, and I never dined with anyone at Ristorante da Piero who could limit themselves to a single piece.
Bread may not usually be an adequate measure of a restaurant's overall quality, but it is at da Piero. Chalky and dense, the bread is served warm and gently crisped. One night, it was followed by a free plate of white bean focaccia dressed with balsamic vinegar and, after that, a cutting board groaning with cured meats we ordered from the antipasti menu. The mortadella was typical of the lot: redolent of garlic, the smooth-textured, house-cured meat was a far cry from the glorified baloney found in most cold-cut sandwiches.
It also went well with the piadina, the cut bell peppers glistening with olive oil and the dry Aneri Prosecco, a sparkling wine. The spread had us feeling we were eating more like Italians than New Orleanians. And we had hardly begun.
Italian restaurants proliferate here, but only a handful diverge from the indigenous red-gravy style, giving this small restaurant in Kenner the luster of an exotic outsider even though it is technically a transplant from Ponchatoula. That's where owner Piero Cenni opened the first Ristorante da Piero, which operated for seven years before he moved to Kenner last summer.
Cenni comes from a family of restaurant and hotel professionals in Romagna, and you're no more likely to find garlicky baked oysters or spaghetti and meatballs on his restaurant's menu than you are to find hand-rolled strozzapreti at Mosca's.
Da Piero's food is northern Italian, and the premium the chef places on the rustic flavors and bare-bones preparations of that region are equaled by the one he places on cooking from scratch. Look no further than the pasta course to see how these impulses set his restaurant apart.
When pasta is homemade, as it is here, one hopes for embellishments to recede so that the noodle can come to the fore, and Cenni obliges. The pasta at his restaurant has a faint flavor of its own and a supple texture that would be shameful to conceal.
One night it was that strozzapreti, a thin, goofy-looking round noodle tossed with herbs, tomatoes, eggplant and a few sweet, firm shrimp; another night it was tagliatelle stained by a light tomato sauce with peas and strips of salty prosciutto. The tortelloni was a tad firm, though its spinach-ricotta stuffing was a great foil for the rich, judiciously applied bolognese sauce that covered it.
Should the sublimity of the pasta not be immediately apparent to you, the staff will bring it to your attention. The biggest fans of the food at da Piero are the few men who serve it, and their enthusiasm hovers on the cusp between contagious and overbearing. They may linger longer than you wish around the table, or assertively offer a litany of unsolicited recommendations, but they also know how to pace a proper, multi-course Italian meal and plate pasta tableside neatly.
The staff gives character to a restaurant that, with the conservative antique decor of a Virginia horse-country bed and breakfast, could easily come off as stuffy. A lot of things about the restaurant -- its suburban location next to a laser planetarium, its penchant for broadcasting loud, dramatic soundtrack music in a room adjacent to one with a live guitar player -- are a little different, which seems the point. As Terry Berry, the wine wholesaler who moonlights as da Piero's voluble host-waiter -- not to mention the steward of its delightful, all-Italian wine list -- likes to point out, even the restaurant's lasagna is atypical. It's made with spinach pasta, béchamel, and no red sauce.
In addition to the regular menu, there's always a printed list of specials and, often, yet another handful of additional dishes that the waiters detail tableside. The best way to proceed is to order what sounds good and hope for the best, as I discovered fabulous dishes and relative disappointments from all corners of the repertoire.
There are things I'd order again -- the no-nonsense mixed grill of sausage, pork chops and lamb, say, or the grilled scarmoza cheese toasts with bagna cauda, an oily, deliciously pungent anchovy sauce -- simply to counterbalance a bottle of Santogostino Rosso, an intense Sicilian wine.
One night, the specials list included chicken roasted tough and parched; it also featured a luscious osso buco with al dente risotto. Bland carpaccio and dry, overcooked beef tenderloin left me thinking I'd stay away from the beef dishes -- until I remembered the beef roulade stuffed with eggs, spinach and mortadella that so excited me on my first visit. If your waiter gushes over a stewy, off-the-menu rabbit dish with tomatoes and olives, take his word for it. It's delicious.
Ristorante da Piero's dessert menu is far more limited than its sprawling savory roster. I've eaten enough partially defrosted tiramisu in my day to appreciate the soft, creamy version here, though the signature dessert seems to be the zuppa inglese.
Literally translated as "English soup," it's similar to a trifle. A layering of rum-soaked sponge cake with thick custard and whipped cream, it's a plain, uncomplicated dessert, not a showstopper. It's also something quirky and special, and at Ristorante da Piero it's with just such a thing that you'll want to end your meal.