DON ANGIE

There's little I love more than when a place lives up to the hype, is worth the wait, and just makes you happy to be there.  This, in a nutshell, is Don Angie.  As a husband and wife team, I'm assuming the "Don" part of the name has the mafioso derivation meaning "Boss" and that that is Angie.  'Cause her husband and partner's name is Scott Tacinelli, so unless they have a very open marriage with some Don character floating around in the b.o.h., Ms. Rito wears the pants in the family, or at least got titular bragging rights.   Before partnering with Mr. Tacinelli, Ms. Rito worked at Major Food Group's  now-defunct Torrisi Italian Specialties and their wildly popular juggernaut, Carbone, influences which gleam in their new West Village speak-easy-esque little joint.  It has much of the cache expected of any Italian-American, tiled floors and flickering votive candles, but with a distinctly modern approach, and exquisitely executed.

The menu reads with a deceptive simplicity, but the food that arrives is exciting, novel, plucky, and never overwrought,-but definitely not "traditional".  We didn't know quite what to expect of a chrysanthemum salad, except I assured my tablemates it wouldn't be a bowl of dowdy flowers (chrysanthemums are typical presents given to the mourning in Italy, anyways, so it was safe to say we'd probably be getting greens, much like dandelions).  What arrived, however, appeared more like a pile of fluffy shredded cheese than a salad at all, but once the delicately flavored greens were lifted from underneath the voluminous shroud of practically aerated parmesan, it surrendered a bit of its bravado, and coalesced into the salad proportionately.  We split the salad among three with ample quantity for all, although I loved it so
 much I could've probably finished the whole thing solo.  No bread basket is provided, but the stuffed garlic flatbread is tasty as all get out, much like a crackling-thin white pizza gooey with cheese and stealthily filled with shreds of spinach, like an Italian grandma trying to get you to eat your vegetables.   But Don Angie is in no way strictly Italian: they don't shy away from such cosmopolitan ingredients as a burnt porcini dashi in their crudo, labne accompanying a Bbq Calamari or a tamarind glaze on the prosciutto e melone.   








Main courses offer the same inventiveness.  Chicken Scarpariello goes way off-script from the classic with a tender breast, sliced and blackened alongside spicy nubs of sausage, and draped with deep purple sprigs of basil and lusty Anaheim chiles sautéed with chewy, hammy capocollo.  Orata alla Griglia  was a firmer, meatier filet than usual, amply sided with fat orbs of Israeli couscous-style pasta rife with scungilli and clams, and lubricated with a zesty buttermilk sauce.  But don't think that the classic Italian pastas have been neglected: there is a signature lasagna

for two, cleverly furled into scrolls and wading in a saucy bath of cheesy tomato sauce.  Certainly untraditional, but also not cheap: it's $64, which breaks down to about ten dollars more than most of their other pasta offerings (although judging from Instagram it very well may be worth it).  Equally luscious, however, was the Garganelli Gigante, featuring chewy rolled-up noodles in a broken meatball ragu so heavily sauced it almost looked like a chunky bowl of tomato soup upon arrival.  Its flavor was lighter and brighter than expected, though, while remaining rustic and hearty and unequivocally

rib-sticking.  We weren't certain if
 the pasta courses would be primi-sized portions or main course, given their reasonable prices (in the low twenties aside from the lasagna), but while they're not behemoth Carmine's-esque family-sized platters, they are substantial and filling.   They certainly leave room for a side dish or two, as well, as neither options, neither the
Pastas nor the Mains, are conspicuously veg-heavy.  Thus, side dishes from the garden are
 recommended.  And even if you DIDN'T need to amplify your five-a-day the  broccoli is kind of a must-have, its deeply charred florets dusted in pecorino, their nuttiness enhanced with a flourish of toasted sesame seeds.  The Eggplant Agrodolce is just as good, the tangy sauce balancing the eggplant's earthiness, cooked down soft and studded with pignoli for nice crunchy moments.



We had eaten beyond the reasonable prospect for dessert, although a Lemon Sgroppino might've capped things off delicately enough.  Other options include a Black Cocoa Tiramisu with marsala caramel and mascarpone, and while I'm not a huge tiramisu fan, that one sounds worth returning for.  And return, I would.



103 Greenwich Ave,
tel (212) 889-8884