|
|
Cafe Goodfellas758 State St. New Haven 06511 203-785-8722 By TOM GOGOLA New Haven Advocate Published: 11/18/2005 When an Italian restaurant alights on a theme that happens to be the celebration of movies about the Mafia, what does this say about the general state of Italian-American pride? Is that even a fair question to ask anymore, given that mob movies and television hits like The Sopranos and Growing Up Gotti are now considered as all-American as Mom, apple pie and whining about Mexican illegals? I'm talking about Goodfellas, the new restaurant on State Street that airs mobster movies on jumbo plasma-screen televisions while you eat. As part of the gimmick, a DJ-VJ monitors the film as it's playing, and when a "classic" line or scene comes up, he turns up the volume on the movie, for all in attendance to hear. Like any American male worth his saltimbocca, I'm into Mafia culture, and have never once forgotten the cannolis, on Fat Clemenza's orders. I'm a fanatical Sopranos fan. The Godfather was my favorite movie growing up. Goodfellas is on my top-ten all time favorites list, and, truth be told, I don't care if overly sensitive Italian-Americans take offense to Goodfellas, the restaurant or the movie. Having said that: Can we all agree that, despite what the movies would have you think, there's nothing particularly honorable about being a thug? John Gotti, the most popular real-life mobster of his generation, was a sociopath (a well-dressed one, but nevertheless). John Gotti had a "civilian" murdered because he accidentally hit his kid with a car. John Gotti was scum, end of story. Murder, extortion, racketeering, let's be clear-eyed about what we are celebrating here, and that is predation on honest, hard-working people. Let's also stipulate that outlaw culture in America has always had a ready base of eager supplicants. Men live vicarious tough-guy lives through their favorite outlaws because, push come to shove, many men are auto-emasculating fools. Which explains, in part, why Goodfellas, the restaurant, was a hit from the moment it opened its doors. At times, the place appears to be frequented by a number of wannabe gangsters wearing tasseled loafers and pinkie rings who, on entering the restaurant, start saying things like "gabbagoola," "gimme da bra-schzoot" and "dat's good mootz." (Translation: "Cappicola," "Give me the prosciutto," "That's good mozzarella.") They tell themselves that they're rubbing shoulders with "made" men, but everyone is just playing a role. Everyone's a fake made man. Just like in the movies. And yet, and yet. The food at Goodfellas is something to be proud of, on its own terms. The unfortunate thing about Goodfellas isn't the goombah-movie theme; it's that a theme is apparently necessary at all in order to draw people in. So here's what happened on the first Saturday night after the restaurant opened last month. I report this with full awareness that any new restaurant, even one opened by veteran restaurateur Gerry Iannaccone, of Tenderloin fame, is going to have some conceptual kinks to work out. I'd ordered the Caesar salad, the mission figs and the veal chop. The film was Analyze That, the moronic follow-up to Analyze This with Billy Crystal playing mobster Robert DeNiro's shrink. The film is playing, and I'm enjoying that Caesar salad, I really am. It's very cheesy, offering lots of flavorful shavings of parmagiano along with fresh, crisp Romaine and a strong underbelly of anchovy flavor in the dressing. I like that the kitchen doesn't cop to weak-kneed American palates, that they'll do the Caesar right, that they'll put the pungent and salty fish in the dish. The mission figs are also recommended; this was a nicely plated arrangement of mushy figs stuffed with smoked mootz, and wrapped in parma bra-schzoot. Mootz and parma bra-schzoot also made an appearance on my double-cut veal chop, a tender and well-charred cut of meat topped with the cheese and ham that wholly justified the $28.95 rib-sticker price. Iannaccone knows his meat. But then there was that whole business of the movie. There's a scene in Analyze That where Crystal is giving DeNiro a Rorschach test, and this is, apparently, a classic scene. I chewed on my veal bone, and the VJ turned up the volume just as Crystal is asking DeNiro what he sees in the Rorschach. DeNiro, after a couple of tries, gives the right answer, describing the blot as resembling the smile-shaped part of a woman's lower anatomy and with teeth. Welcome to Goodfellas, a "family restaurant" in an extremely limited sense of the expression. My second visit was on a Tuesday night, and the scene at Goodfellas was subdued; the easygoing elegance of the place shone through. Tonight the movie was The Godfather Part II , and since I was dining alone, it made for a fine dinner date. I was sitting in the bar area, thinking about how one of the hallmarks of the Godfather movies is that they all begin with big parties, family affairs co-starring lots of food and wine and business. Coppola's filmic conceit seemed to parallel, to some extent, the business at hand at Goodfellas. There was more to mob movies than the violence and "honor among thieves" omerta business there were celebrations of weddings and communions, too. This train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a gorgeous plate of broccoli rabe and sausage. Here was a heap of glistening green rabe piled high and steaming fresh, garlicky as get-out and with several tasty sweet-sausage links sticking out of the bottom of the pile. A platter of Belgium endive arrived soon thereafter, and again, no complaints. The endive came wrapped with parma bra-schzoot and contained goat cheese, sun-dried tomatoes and pignoli nuts; you just pick up a leaf of endive and eat it like a piece of a-beez (pizza). Michael Corleone is now about to have a hitman whack his brother in Lake Tahoe. Fredo! I know it was you! The "filet cognac" arrives just in time. It's advertised as "Chef Gennaro's signature dish." Sign me up, Jerry: The filet was a thick portion of dense Angus beef tenderloin, grilled to that precise point between medium rare and medium and topped with a fantastically rich gorgonzola cream sauce, within which swim chunks of picked lobster and portabella mushrooms, but no sign of Luca Brasi. Then again, Luca Brasi wasn't in The Godfather Part II , as any mob-movie fan knows. Still, like the Godfather movies themselves, my second, Part II visit, was even better than the first. A couple of Fridays ago, I decided on one last visit to Goodfellas, just to make sure I wasn't wrong about the consistent excellence of the food. I was not. But I was wrong to think that I might repeat that incredible, quiet dinner I'd had the previous week. Dinner at Goodfellas, Part III wasn't disappointing - it was just overblown. I got there a few ticks shy of 11 p.m. and perched myself on one of the bar-area tables. An exceedingly loud barrage of 1970s disco music filled the air, a disco ball whirled, and Analyze This or That or the Other Thing was playing on the plasma televisions. I had a Pinot Noir just to calm my nerves. And then another. At one point during the meal, I asked the waitress if Goodfellas was trying to be a club or a restaurant. "A club-restaurant." A clestaurant? I like the restaurant part a lot better. A colorful and fresh antipasto platter was a first-rate affair, featuring a couple varieties of Italian cheese and cured meats, a robust pile of roasted red peppers, stuffed peppers and a bunch of olives. I'd be more specific about it all, but frankly, I couldn't concentrate on what was in front of me because the music was just so loud! I just jammed it down my gullet and tried to keep the hostility in check. Holy mother of God, it was loud. Holy mother of God, that grilled New York strip I ordered for an entree was fantastic. Thick, well-grained, perfect marbling, juicy, medium-rare...all your favorite steak adjectives were applicable. I took most of the steak home and enjoyed it in peace and quiet. Then I went to the mattresses, and looked forward to Part IV . That's the one where the disco ball gets whacked. (P.S.: Tattaglia's a pimp.) Hours: Open for Lunch Mon.-Fri. 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m.; Dinner Sun. 3 p.m.-close, Mon.-Thurs. 5-10 p.m., Fri. & Sat. 5-11 p.m. Current/Upcoming Events | Map | Printer-Friendly Page | Email to a Friend
|
|
|