Bringing Rome to San Francisco

It was the name which caught my attention. Chiaroscuro. The art form from the Renaissance, which evokes Baglione's Sacred Love or Caravaggio's Death of the Virgin, made an early impression on my sensibilities. The interplay of shadow and light, the tension of opposites, attracting and repelling with the same magnitude, has a certain allure. Primarily, because we see in it that those things which lie at different ends of the spectrum are reflections of one another, each existing in the contrast of its counterpart. So I could hardly pass up the opportunity to partake of the fare of a ristorante bearing this name. I knew it would either be an audacious, robust meal of epic proportions or a colossal, bombastic failure dishing up sub-standard fare under the banner of underivative grand cuisine.

Fortune smiled. It was a sublime kiss from the steps of Rome which had been planted on the brow of the City of St. Francis. The decor is elegant, the ambiance sweetly mellow and the staff as inviting as any Italian mother welcoming you to her table. The flavors of the food are bright, lively and bold; sometimes starting with subtle hints which explode out into full notes of savory goodness.

While it is quintessentially, undeniably Roman, innovative additions express nouveau gustatory melanges which enliven the palate, and court the tongue to relish repeatedly the offerings. The calameretti affogati and the fritturina di pesci both offer calamari in two different (dare we say contrasting) styles, equally succulent. The bruschette is a sampling of diversity, each one served portraying its own theme. The pastas are ascending clefs rising to the stairwell of heavenly lightness and boundless taste; homemade bread leaves one hunkering after more. And the veal burger, nestled between two slices of focaccia, topped with brie, crisp leeks and celery, is divine. What is amazing is that this only a subset of what is daily proffered.

The wine selection is no less impressive than the food. A number of excellent Italian varietals are available (I am partial to the honeyed Primitivo from Puglia). To be on even keel here in wine-soaked California, choice spirits from Sonoma and Napa have their place in the proverbial rack. Dessert wines are also of a high quality and not overly cloying in their bouquet.

Probably the most surprising revelation was the caliber of the desserts. Usually restaurants with great chefs only have incredible sweets if they have a dedicated pastry chef; but Chef Campitelli is sui generis, and manages to create an array that is eclectic and distinctive. His take on beignets is refreshingly creamy, and the strength of them lies in the custard with which they are infused. His mother's apple cake is hearty, his chocolate tort resplendent, and the mousse smooth as whipped butter.

If you don't have the serendipitous luck to visit Rome this season, you can still have an archetypal experience of what she has in the way of culinary fineness by habitually stopping over to break bread and toast at her emissary to the West Coast.