Valentine to Valenti

Tom Valenti that is.

Went to Valenti's new Upper West Side enoteca/trattoria called 'Cesca. Gorgeous spot. Started at the bar with a house drink called 'Cesca 75, a riff on the French 75. ('Cesca's on 75th Street - Get it?) The amiable bartender combined sugar, Campari and Champage. Mmmm. Just enough of a bitter edge to seem like a true apertivo.

My friend Jen was in a sweeter mood and a Dorothy's Slipper was suggested - basically a Cosmo made with Charbay Ruby Red Grapefruit Vodka. I loved it. Once again that hint of bitter was on the mark. Jen wasn't as thrilled, but the amiable bartender continued to be amiable and reshook with an extra dash of simple syrup.

Although the place was jumping, the hostess was kind enough to let us finish off our drinks before escorting us to our table. Enroute, Jen and I drooled over the luscious plates being made up in Valenti's two open kitchens - particularly the smaller plates.

And then the one major flaw of the evening appeared - or more to the point - didn't appear: our waitress. Although not unfriendly, the woman didn't come over to our table for a solid 20 minutes after we sat down. And, she seemed peeved to have to wait for me to down my last sip of 'Cesca 75 to whisk my flute away. Now, I can understand a busy waitress not able to get to my table in good time - but this gal was hanging out by the wait station, chilling throughout most of the evening. And, she didn't seem any more attentive to her other customers. In the restaurant's service defense, I did see that the other waitstaff seemed to be hustling. We were just unlucky enough to get the one bad apple.

But, now, on to the food - gutsy and intensely flavorful. We started with Valenti's Spiced Parmesan Fritters, which were served piping hot, dusted with parmesan and flecked with salty speck ham. Then, we split two pastas: Bucattini alla Amatriciana, served perfectly al dente in a light spicy tomato sauce, topped with chopped hard-boiled egg and rich pancetta; and Pasta al Forno, a hefty portion of ziti bathed in a spicy meat ragu and capped with cheese and a layer of rich bechamel. They complimented each other nicely. But still, Jen and I regretted that we hadn't indulged in some of the exquisite antipasti that we saw plated as we whipped past the first kitchen.

As we exited I spied Tom Valenti by the door, which was crammed with folks trying to get a table, and let him know the food was wonderful. Extremely gracious among the throng, he was delighted to learn that I came all the way from Brooklyn Heights. He raved about the area - and agreed that Montague Street sorely lacks a decent restaurant. As a former Fort Greene resident, he used to visit the area regularly - but only dine at one spot, far removed from the Montague Street curse: Noodle Pudding. Now, there's a man after my own heart.

Any residual negativity brought on by our waitress instantly disappeared. Jen and I definitely plan on going back. But, next time we're sitting up front at the enoteca and ordering a bunch of antipasti. Valenti thought it was a fine plan, saying "It's much more fun being able to eat without silverware anyway!"