Casa Bleve, Rome

What is it about certain restaurants that just make you feel at home the instant you walk in? Is it the host’s welcoming smile? Is it the attractiveness and warmth of the room? Maybe a sense of the staff, bustling about, taking care of their guests? I’m not exactly sure, but as I walk onto Casa Bleve with my sister C, I know this will be good.

Right away, one of the owners recognizes us – Alessandro remembers us vaguely from previous visits to his family’s other enoteca, the Antica Bottega di Anacleto Bleve - C and I had visited that enoteca 15 years ago on our first visit to Rome, and had spent a very agreeable long lunch getting totally snockered with Alessandro and his crew. Later that visit, we’d come across Alessandro at a stoplight on his Vespa scooter; he was loaded down with about 6 cases of wine he was delivering to customers (they were stacked on the floorboard, held between his legs, as well as being stacked high on a specially-made luggage rack on the back). How he maintained balance while zooming around in the chaotic Roman traffic was a complete mystery, much less how he managed to keep his tires from exploding under all that weight.

I’ve been back to that little enoteca several times since that first visit – it is essentially a wine store that serves lunch. I stopped in on Friday (10.19.07) midday. It is two rooms with floor-to-ceiling wine bins, and scattered tables. You go through a line to a glass cold case, point at the amazing-looking antipasti you want, they put a plate together for you, and you return to your table to enjoy. Order up a few bottles, and you’re pretty much guaranteed that it will be a most excellent day indeed. Just don’t be surprised if you need a nap later. S’all good, babe.

For lunch, we enjoyed plates of sliced prosciutto, bresaola and salami, mozzarella with rucola, involtini di carpaccio, vegetables in oil, mozz with anchovy, tomatoes and eggplant … the plates kept coming and each was more beautiful than the last. Two bottles of wine, both from Gianni Voerzio of Piedmont – the 2006 Arneis and the 2005 Dolcetto “Roccavino.” The Arneis showed beautifully pure apples and peaches, with a mineral core that was like licking a stone, with bright and fresh acidity and a hint on walnut of the very finish; the Dolcetto was grapey and slurpy – fresh, fruity and without pretense, hint of chalky tannins and loads of bursting plums. Fun.

A bit of background: these enoteca are all over Italy, running the gamut from simple to sophisticated. They typically started off as bulk wine and oil shops, selling to local customers from large casks and barrels. People would stop by with their bottles to fill, and end up chatting over a glass of wine. Eventually snacks were added, then maybe a soup or pasta dish prepared in a pot and ladled out as ordered, until finally a full-fledged restaurant was operating in the same room as the old bulk wine and oil business. Another place in the same Roman neighborhood that I visited ages ago for the first time, Da Benito on Via Falegnami, still had the huge oil and wine casks behind the counter, where local hardhats, office workers and neighborhood residents congregated, enjoying simple snacks and affetati (sliced meats) as well as a selection of a few pasta dishes and meat offerings at lunch (maybe three or four total). Not a speck of English was spoken. This type of eating establishment is really typical all over Italy – if you’re itching for an experience outside the well-worn tourist haunts, wander down some alley and follow your nose. Chances are you’ll find something like this. Fifteeen years ago, we communicated by pointing at the chalkboard menu and rubbing our tummies contentedly afterwards. There were no tables, only a narrow marble bar in the tiny room. This visit, Da Benito has expanded and taken over the shop next door to add seating and a full menu. All is good in Benito’s world.

Back to Casa Bleve. One enters through the wine shop, with bottles standing in bins from floor to ceiling. Behind this is an arched entryway into what was once the courtyard of a palazzo, now covered by a colored glass ceiling, with about 15 tables scattered around. Along one wall is a long, curved glass case filled with antipasti, dried meats and artisanal cheese, behind which stands the chef, plating away (no hot dishes are served here). The colors are soft and muted yellows and ochres, with marble floors. The staff moves about quietly and takes obvious pride in their work. Next to our table, on a shelf against the wall, are a group of artfully arranges wineglasses and small glass bowls, each filled with a different dried spice – green peppercorns, cloves, anise seeds. The whole effect is one of harmony and delight.

We start with a carpaccio do manzo con rucola e parmigiano (beef carpaccio with arugula and parmesan), dressed with olive oil and salt. The beef is incredibly tender and flavorful, the cheese aged just enough to give it some of the crunch that comes from the salt precipitating inside, and the arugula is the spiciest and sweetest I’ve had this trip – not even a hint of bitterness. A plate of artisanal sliced meats follows – a cured Spanish beef, salami di Cinta Senese, a Tuscan coppo, prosciutto from Emilia. All the Italian meats are bursting with hamminess – these were happy, happy pigs, who ate really, really well, and now they're making me exceedingly content. We finish up with a plate of artisanal cheese – Alessandro has chosen 12, arranged in order of consumption, from lightest to most pungent.

The wine list is excellent, with a good variety of Italian and French selections, and representative bottles from most wine-producing countries of the world. We start off with a 1999 Calabretta Etna Rosso from Sicily, made from the Nerello Mascalese grape – one that holds aromas and flavors of Etna’s volcanic soils. It is spectacular – like Burgundy in weight, but unmistakably Italian. Then on to a glass of Romano Dal Forno’s spectacular 2001 Valpolicella. Throughout, we let the staff choose the wines – we just give them some pointers about budget, region and what sorts of flavors, and they take over. These are excellent selections – obviously, they know their stuff. The overall impression of this place is one of harmony, elegance and balance - exactly the same qualities I look for in a glass of wine.

What is it that makes a particular establishment shine above others? There are probably hundreds of enoteche in Rome alone – why is one so superior to others, even allowing for differences in ambition and execution?

A friend of mine, J, he of the wild hair (in every sense of the word) and runner-up for the “citrico” award, has a theory – that the best indicator of whether a restaurant will provide exceptional or merely very good service is plainly read by the general sense of well-being on the service staff – what he calls “bonheur” and “malheur.” (Doesn’t the use of French words just make this seem … well … so damned sophisticated?) Let’s take an extreme example. J and I have visited numerous Michelin 2- and 3-star establishments together (as well as our share of tawdry dives, some of which were also 2- and 3-star … but that’s a different story), and you will generally receive very good service at places like this – after all, this is their bread and butter, and no one keeps a Michelin star for long if the service is not, at minimum, at least very good. But there is a difference between good service given with joy and pride as from good service given from obligation or terror – and the latter always carries a hint of bitterness, no matter how professional and complete the training. I’ve been to 3-star restaurants in France and Italy where you could smell the fear; it emanated from every pore of every employees’ skin – except for the source of said fear: often a psycho chef or very evil maitre d’hotel. (Yes, Virginia, not every chef is as cute and fuzzy as Emeril …) A restaurant that tries to be the best in the world at what it does, the pinnacle of service, food and atmosphere - worth a journey, as they say in the red book – will only get so far on training and fear. It might be as good as any other similar restaurant on the world, but will never, ever be able to go over the top; that Kierkegaardian leap, as it were – much to the owner’s chagrin, who will undoubtedly scream more, throw more pans, break more plates and indulge in every type of drama and pathos in an effort to get the employees to do even better. Chances are, this behavior will simply cause the unfortunate employees to put their head down, remind themselves of how good their time at this place will look on their resume, and do their job exactly as trained to do so – but without joy. Malheur city, man.

I can count on one hand the 2- and 3-star places I’ve visited where I get a sense of ineffable joy, this sense of bonheur, lighter than air but more present than anything else in the room. At Pierre Gagnaire in Paris, three visits over 5 years were near-perfect. At Dal Pescatore in Cannetto, a tiny town in the Po Valley of Northern Italy, the joy of the service makes the food taste even better – and this is arguably my favorite place in the world; I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been. (It’s essentially Mantovan housewife cooking, taken to a level that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up.) There are a few other places like this that I’ve visited over the years– not necessarily high-end; some were greasy spoons and local watering holes – you get the point. Bonheur rocks.

Which brings me back to Casa Bleve, a place that I can safely place at the pinnacle of the “bonheur” category. Rome is generally a friendly place to begin with; far more so than, say, Florence or Milan. But the amazingly good feeling upon walking into this place was no fluke – this is a great staff, certainly one I’d be proud to employ. Everyone just radiated a sense of pride at their job and responsibility. Service was correct, yes, but also giddy – I have no better word for it. I’m usually a bit hesitant to place myself in the hands of waiters and sommeliers where wine choices are concerned, but I felt the same sense of well-being here as I do with a really good sushi chef, as in: “This guy won’t steer me wrong! He’d never poison me!” I felt the same here – and the choices they made were spectacular. All night, I could tell that Alessandro was keeping an eye on everything, and that there was not much that he would change. A raised eyebrow here, a subtle nod of the head, and the thing was done. Behind the prep bar, the chef was efficiently plating antipasti, slicing cheese and meats, artfully drizzling olive oil over everything; the plates looked gorgeous. The servers looked like they were going to burst every time they brought a plate to the table, they were so happy. I don’t know about you, but stuff just tastes even better to me in a place like that.

C and I leave perfectly sated at midnight, and head back to the hotel for a glass of Prosecco before calling it a night. She has an early flight back to her home in Frankfurt, and so we say goodbye before heading to the rooms.

1999 Calabretta, Etna Rosso IGT, Sicilia
A gorgeous combination of fresh and dried fruits – fresh picked raspberry and a dried blackberry essence, with leather, minerals and tobacco, hints of licorice and coffee beans. On the palate, very harmonious flavors of plums and dark raisins, with an earthy core that reminds me of great Burgundy. A touch of wood comes though – but old chestnut wood, not new oak barrels. This is a complex, layered and subtle wine, with a long, dark finish and ripe tannins. Drink now-2011. (4.0+nb)

2001 Romano Dal Forno, Valpolicella
Dried cherries, port-like intensity, all fruit, mineral and smoke. The fruit is chameleon-like mix of cherries, cassis and black raspberry – hard to tell where one leaves off and the next begins. On palate, long and smooth lines of velvety fruit, but with good acid and structure – the sweetness never gets to the point of being cloying. This is young, very intense, and will benefit from a few years of ageing. With air, spice, cedar, soy and graphite come out – and though the wine is huge and concentrated, it possesses incredible balance and poise. Silky finish, with long, pure flavors. (4.0+nb)

Comments

[Pearl]

I have read on Tripadvisor from one person, that Casa Bleve would prefer not to have tourists. We are not the beer tee shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes types. Would we be welcome?

[Alan]

Pearl - thanks for the question. Of course, my first reaction was ... "I have a reader!" Casa Bleve is definitely not on the ugly tourist radar ( wherever the tourist may be from) and it sounds like you are NOT that type and would be very welcome here. With any restaurant I visit while traveling, I try to let the staff do as much suggesting and guiding as possible. Showing a little respect and courtesy goes a long way in Rome, where many service staffs are unfortunately inundated with rude customers from all over, especially during the summer. FYI: in Italy, shorts are frowned upon at dinner in a nicer place, even if you are wearing a $600 Armani shirt with them. Sounds like you know the dance - just be yourselves, and enjoy. Alan

[Spice Rack]

I use to blog about food and restaurants but this one turns me on because it has class!

[Alan]

Spice Rack - thanks for the comment. Casa Bleve definitely has class. As to whether my blog does ... debatable. Glad you liked it.

Alan