American Italian Food

I admit it. I'm a food snob, and about no food am I more snobby these days than Italian food. Italian food is sublime simplicity, the combination of excellent ingredients so that each element sings. Ripe produce, artisanal cheeses and meats and pasta, local wine and olive oil. It really is nearly impossible to cook real Italian food in America.

However, while I am an unapologetic snob, I am not unreasonable. I don't expect Italian restaurants here in America to present the kind of food Italian restaurants in Italy do (although Steps of Rome in North Beach, San Francisco, comes pretty darn close. If you go, get the lamb). I am a fan of American Italian food. Meatballs with pasta: anathema in Italy, but satisfying and good. I made some tonight, and apologized to Secundo of Big Night while I did so. Alfredo sauce with chicken and mushrooms. Piles of grated parmesan (although I've recently become a convert to American Parma, which is pretty darn good and much less expensive than actual parmesan). It all can be very, very good. And it doesn't have to be fussy or fancy to be good: just good pasta, good sauce, good chianti, and I'm happy.

There is a perfect example of a good Italian American restaurant across the border in Coeur D'Alene: Angelo's. Good food, cozy-kitschy decor, casual but attentive service, reasonable prices. I like it a lot. Were it on the South Hill, I would eat there every night.

Unfortunately, Angelo's isn't on the South Hill. It's not even in Spokane. In Spokane, there seem to be nothing but bad Italian restaurants. I'm not even talking Olive Garden, with its library paste white sauce, and I'm sure not talking Spaghetti Factory. I went there last year, after not having been to one since high school, and I was shocked by how truly inedible it was. But Luigi's, which I so want to be good, except everything tastes slightly like tin can, and the meat is always freezer-burnt. And Italian Kitchen, where the food is actually pretty good, but the prices are outrageous. Twenty-five dollars for chicken piccata? Really? I can make it better at home in twenty minutes.

Which brings me to Mission Bistro. I had such high hopes. It's attached to Cassano's, which is a perfectly respectable Italian market, and makes damn fine tiramisu. The Inlander raved, although I can't honestly remember the last time the Inlander said something less than kind about a restaurant. It looks like the perfect Italian American restaurant, and I even found the unprofessional waitstaff friendly and charming and completely appropriate. All it needed to be perfect was wax covered chianti bottles, but perhaps those take time to build up.

I will say that the pizzas I saw perched happily above many tables looked promising, but I decided to follow my waitress' advice and order the lasagna. It was pretty close, and it certainly was a healthy serving. No meat, but lots of pasta and cheese. The sauce was a fairly bland and bodiless pomodoro, with unfortunately big hunks of crunchy celery showing up just often enough to surprise me every time. Unfortunately, I fear that really is the star of the menu. Jeremy ordered the chicken marsala with mushroom ravioli, which was a disaster. The worst offender was the chicken, which was tough and substantially off tasting. The ravioli was okay, although gummy. The sauce tasted more of bouillon than marsala, and was an unappealing dark, burnt-pan brown. The topper was the topper: soggy pinenuts that added nothing to the flavor but were texturally unappealing. Thank goodness I had so much extra lasagna.

There were things I really liked about Mission Bistro. The waitresses were charming, and obviously concerned by Jeremy's barely touched chicken. They comped us a tiramisu that would have been terrific if they had left the multi-colored jimmies off the top. The house dressing was flavorful and well blended. And, much to my surprise, the band -- the Acoustic Duo -- was superb. Great guitarist, beautiful voices perfectly blended in complicated harmonies, and a respectful understanding of the venue. It's tough to be the band in such a small place, but they managed to be a presence without impeding conversation. They are there every Thursday, and if the pizza is anywhere near good, it might be a good night out.

Friends, even friends who have lived in Florence, tell me that Ferrante's on Regal is good. I haven't tried it yet, but I really hope so. In the meantime, here's my recipe for meatballs (adapted from the New York Times). I don't think it's as healthy as one might hope:

Mix together:

1 lb Italian sausage

1 lb ground turkey

1 cup fresh breadcrumbs

1/4 cup milk

6 pressed garlic cloves

1 tbls minced fresh rosemary

Red pepper flakes to taste

Form into twelve large meatballs, place in a large baking dish, and bake at 425 for 25 minutes. In the meantime, brown 2-4 slices of bacon, chopped. Add one chopped red onion, and saute until soft. Add 3 pressed cloves of garlic, stir until fragrant, then 1 cup red wine. Scrap up brown bits, then add 1 large can Muir Glen crushed tomatoes with basil. Simmer uncovered.

After 25 minutes, take the meatballs out of the oven, and drain any fat that has collected in the bottom. Pour the tomato sauce over the meatballs, and put them back in a 350 oven for another 25 minutes.

I like to serve these hot, next to some pasta with parma and a little of the sauce spooned on top. Fresh basil is nice for a little freshness and green, but not required. Enjoy!