Review: Acquacotta in Alameda a gem

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With only a few entrees and pastas on the menu, it's easy to get a feel for the kitchen's gutsy, refined approach.

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Wasn't the unspoken promise of Chez Panisse that every neighborhood in America could have the same; a place where honest food was informed by local, seasonal ingredients and a humble, big-hearted chef?

Yet even in the East Bay, in the shadow of Chez Panisse, many a suburb is still getting by with gluey Alfredo, leathery Veal Picatta and "Pasta Primavera" showcasing wintery carrots and yellowing broccoli.

There has been progress. In my own neighborhood in Livermore I can now walk to a decent Italian restaurant. Owned by true Italians, the food is less saucy and more assertive. But even here the menu is static and the kitchen's rough-and-tumble personality shows through.

So I'm committed to seeking out any restaurant that has a sensitive chef and respect for simplicity. Even if you might settle for mediocrity rather than travel to somebody else's neighborhood, I think we all benefit from giving a high-five — and a higher profile — to those chefs and owners who aim to raise the bar.

Acquacotta in Alameda is just such a restaurant. John Couacaud risked everything turning an old coffeehouse into a welcoming trattoria with a soulful Italian menu. A tricolor scheme of avocado, mustard and cream of tomato is punctuated by edgy black-and-white prints. It's just one big airy room, really, with a long banquette on one side, a wine bar on the other and a few scattered tables in between. Follow the stained concrete floor all the

When the chef and the owner are one and the same it's a very good sign.

Mom and I arrived a good bit before my brother, Bruce, so we ordered an appetizer and a crisp Italian white recommended by our waiter (the Vermentino, a steal at $26).

The Alici con Menta ($8) — pickled white anchovies — arrived in short order. I've always loved these piquant little fishies — they're just so European — but Couacaud's are a step above. They're buried under a drift of finely grated egg, the whites creamy, softening — along with a drizzle of virgin oil — the puckering effect of the vinegar. A chiffonade of mint adds a surprising tingle of interest.

The food here is more rustic than refined, but there's often a zesty note hidden in the shower of chopped parsley — enough to capture your imagination but never too much to muddy the flavors.

By the time my brother joined us we'd ordered some olives and Arancini (risotto balls, $9), to nibble on. Crusted golden on the outside and saffron yellow inside, the balls are built like a Tootsie Pop with a nugget of Italian Fontina in the middle. The cheese might have been a little riper to fully perfume the rice, but I loved the idea.

The limited, changing menu — three pastas, three main courses and a handful of starters — makes decisions relatively easy.

I felt obligated to try the Acquacotta ($9), a peasant soup of large-cut aromatic vegetables, a few dried legumes and a sparkling broth. Coming with a generous hunk of grilled bread and lifted by the occasional bit of lemon peel and thyme leaf, it's as honest as food gets.

Mom was less thrilled with her Insalata Tricolore ($9), which she pronounced "rabbit food" — but then again she was counting on it as her main course. I defended it vigorously, pointing out how the sharp dressing was matched by a nutty oil, bitter greens and an occasional nubbin of ripe gorgonzola. It was also fun to eat: The lettuces were all chopped to bite-size and dusted with toasted hazelnuts. I loved it.

My brother's grilled asparagus ($9) was also good, softly topped — not unlike those anchovies — with a fluffy mound of shaved ricotta salata. The cheese mellowed the assertive char on the spears while another hit of zest kept the dish vibrant.

Mom was more than happy to help us both with our entrees (not that we needed it). I was served a gorgeous plate of pasta, moistened with cream, seasoned with crisp pancetta and strewn with hunks of tender rabbit ($17). Bruce ordered fish stew ($26), a deep bowl of shellfish as stripped-down naked as my Acquacotta soup had been.

When three tables left early on our Saturday night visit, the dining room felt almost empty for a minute — that's how small Acquacotta is. There's no hostess stand but there was a hostess on our visit, seating diners who were almost uniformly casual in their dress.

But there's a seriousness to the staff; a desire to please, even when folks don't get the concept. (One nearby diner sent back her Spaghetti alla Bolognese because she said it looked too oily — it didn't.)

I'm not sure everyone appreciates how much love and commitment it takes to open and run a restaurant like Acquacotta. Before restaurants such as Chez Panisse came along, we'd have to travel to another country to get the same experience. That's why I like to give them my full appreciation.

Reach Nicholas Boer at 925-943-8254 or nboer@bayarea newsgroup.com.