Cozy Nostra

Italian Gems Where You Eat Like Famiglia

By Warren Rojas / Photography by Seth Freeman

If you can boil water, you can make pasta. Right?

Wrong.

Although Italian cooking was long ago co-opted by Americans and added to the canon of “foods we like better our way,” homespun Italian cuisine involves wholesome ingredients (fresh garlic, extra virgin olive oil, vine-ripened tomatoes), patience (something ‘bout Rome not being built in a day…) and lots of love.

The neighborhood retreats enshrined within know from good food. More importantly, they understand that when patrons walk through the restaurant doors, they aren’t just coming to break bread—they are establishing what often become lifelong bonds.

Join the family.

Ciro Ristorante
42015 Village Center Plaza, Ste. 155, Stone Ridge; 703-957-4062; www.ciroristorante.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch and dinner daily.

After a decade and a half of slinging pies and fast-casual service, hospitality industry veteran Ciro D’Agostino says he was ready to ratchet things down a bit.
“Now that I am [over] 50, I want to do things at a slower pace,” the old hand suggests.

His solution: Open a second, fine-dining facility, and split the time shuttling between both kitchens.

Sounds relaxing, no?

A lifelong restaurateur, D’Agostino has been in the business of pleasing dining patrons since joining forces with an older brother (he’s the youngest of four) at the tender age of 16. As a first-generation immigrant (D’Agostino originally hails from Naples, Italy), he says he is honored to share his hospitality with anyone who gives him the honor of walking through the front doors.

“You didn’t come here to cheat and steal. You come to produce and create,” he says of his understanding of the American dream.

To that end, D’Agostino established his original pizzeria in Centreville in 1992. Its more polished sibling, Ciro Ristorante, followed in 2007.

D’Agostino describes Centreville as more of a place “for busy people” (favored by the on-the-way-home, kids-in-tow crowd), whereas he wanted Stone Ridge to be much more mellow (dressed-up environs, but still a come-as-you-are attitude).

“It’s the place where I wanted to put everything together that I know,” he says of the snazzy new spinoff.

The place is certainly handsome. Multicolored flames dance seductively within the front-and-center stone oven that greets guests as soon as they walk through the revolving door. Fun-seekers can easily slide into any of the high-backed booths that dominate the airy central dining area or claim a seat at the quaint marble-topped bar, while privacy hounds are accommodated with semi-private chambers at opposite ends of the restaurant (we liked the charming cubby surrounded by window views best).

Staff seems professional (reciting specials from memory, sprinkling freshly grated parmesan tableside, refilling beverages on the fly), if a tad too chummy (one youngish server stumbled right into the faux old-friend routine; you’ve got to earn that trust, buddy). Though D’Agostino says he tries his hardest to be everywhere as needed, daughter Laura (currently studying at George Mason) keeps a watchful eye on the new restaurant whenever Poppa is occupied elsewhere.

“I don’t want it to feel like a place that has no spirit,” D’Agostino says of the family-first nature of his business philosophy.

Meanwhile, the crowd appears to be evenly split between young couples and roving groups of friends to extended families (toting around kids from tots to teens).

D’Agostino, meanwhile, attempts to pied piper in all types with his classic Italian preparations.

“These flavors are in my brain,” he says of his allegiance to the same basic ingredients—tomatoes, garlic, oregano, basil and olive oil—that framed his youthful eating. That passion for authenticity also translates into baking bread daily and producing all the pastas in-house.

Daily specials run the gamut from roast mahi-mahi to pumpkin ravioli in butter-sage sauce to ragout-braised short ribs with vegetables. Portions are definitely plus sized, making leftovers almost a fait accompli (one night, nearly every patron marched out with a bulging white carryout bag swinging from their arm).

A mountainous antipasto plate is stocked with tantalizing meats (zesty salami rounds, savory strips of shaved prosciutto), mixed greens drizzled in tongue-teasing balsamic vinegar, roasted red peppers, pert black olives, hunks of aged parmesan (terrific) and Caprese-style tomato slices that are draped with moist slabs of mozzarella (the very definition of abbondanza).

Chicken parmigiana pulls no punches, revealing upward of 10 ounces of well-breaded bird (the coating infused with a spritz of lemon) smothered in fragrant marinara and melted mozzarella and escorted by a tangle of lightly sauced noodles (zesty tomato bits dominate most bites).

Wild mushroom- and parmesan-filled ravioli are enveloped by brandy cream sauce (burnt alcohol sweetness interwoven with that familiar cream silkiness) and bolstered by diced chives and white mushrooms. The fettuccine Mediterraneo reveals al dente noodles buoyed by shredded crab (luscious meat seemed to creep into every forkful) and bay scallops (small, but abundant) in a spicy cream sauce.

The rose sauce reappears in a prosciutto- and cheese-filled tortellini production that is fairly generous with the aged cheese but seemed to falter in the cured meat category (scant bits here and there, but mostly absent).

D’Agostino currently splits his time between the two kitchens—“I work seven days a week because this is my passion,” he states—but would like to bring in more specialty chefs (seafood, pastry) to help round out the entire Stone Ridge dining experience.

And while he’s got some other improvements already in mind (including a possible expansion), D’Agostino seems pleased by the modest success his fledgling white tablecloth venture has enjoyed to date.

“I get people from everywhere. The word has been spread,” he states.

Tutto Bene
501 N. Randolph St., Arlington; 703-522-1005; www.tuttobeneitalian.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch and dinner daily.

Though his restaurant continues to serve disparate dining factions, Tutto Bene owner Orlando Murillo remains single-minded of purpose: keep the customers coming back.

Murillo’s former bosses, the proprietors of the then-budding Italian Oven chain, sold the Ballston spot to Murillo, who subsequently rebranded it Tutto Bene in August 1988. And for the past 20 years, he’s done everything possible to keep the business going—including courting both pasta-seeking patrons and the now-vibrant Bolivian market.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Murillo says there wasn’t much demand for Bolivian cuisine when he first took over, so he elected to stick with the familiar Italian concept, particularly since: 1) the restaurant had already cultivated a decent following after six years in business, and 2) then-Washington Post food critic Phyllis C. Richman had already fingered them as a reputable pasta palace.

As he built inroads within the local Bolivian community, Murillo’s South-American supporters pressed him to showcase their native cuisine.

“Everyone was asking me why I didn’t add Bolivian food on the menu,” he says of the grassroots campaign that ultimately led to his slinging saltenas on the side.

Once he opened that door, his Bolivian clients began clamoring for more traditional dishes. And other local food critics soon added their voices to the choir.

In April 2001 The Washington Post hit the streets with their “The Saltena Circuit” write-up, a cross-cultural nod that ushered a new wave of curiosity-seekers his way.

“That was the opening for many Americans,” Murillo says, noting that that same Saturday morning, 20 people were lined up at his door with the review in hand. Shortly thereafter, he says Washingtonian and Zagat’s joined the fold.

To this day, the restaurant looks very much like it did when Murillo first made the leap from staff to management—but with a few obvious improvements.
The main dining room is definitely showing its age (dull chandeliers, faded frescos, cracked floor tiles), but manages to stay just on this side of the well-lived-in/totally played-out pendulum.

Worn wood tables are draped in standard white tablecloths (which are, in turn, covered with plate glass to ward off astronomical laundry bills from stray sauce spills). Soft music plays in the background. And a snapshot of Jamie Escalante—the hardnosed Bolivian math teacher who inspired “Stand and Deliver,” the late ‘80s biopic starring Edward James Olmos—hangs prominently on one wall as a sign of Bolivian solidarity. Murillo nearly doubled his serving capacity (to nearly 190 seats) in 2000 by adding a dance-friendly facility—the restaurant hosts salsa bands and other Latin musical acts most weekends—featuring an expansive bar, Roman columns, in addition to a semi-private dining room.

Murillo estimates that roughly half his customers are repeat locals and friends. “They are families I’ve known since my service days,” he says of his most devoted regulars.

Bonds that were most likely forged with the help of some homespun Italian favorites.

One terrific loyalty-builder is the half-portion pasta option, a sampling-friendly solution that makes everyday dining/occasional experimentation a breeze. A semi-regular lunch buffet (available from Wednesday through Friday) rolls out rotating hot-bar offerings, while the rest of the Italian menu is mostly dominated by mixed protein plates (beef, chicken, fish; all with sides of pasta or vegetables).

A crowd-pleaser of a calzone arrives stuffed with more sliced sausage (hearty rounds of zesty pork), tangy marinara and molten cheese—the precious ricotta and mozzarella payload oozing out from every corner—than you might find on a full-size pizza served elsewhere.

The milanese Napoletana delivers breaded veal shrouded in ham and melted mozzarella (stretches from stem to stern and drips over the sides) and nestled in a thin, herb-laden marsala sauce that contrasts against the cheesy richness while lending a homey/natural undercurrent to the meat. The marsala reemerges, though noticeably sweeter after spending some time with Portobello mushrooms (sop up the wine well and deliver added meatiness to the dish), in a platter built around pounded chicken filets.

Over a half-dozen jumbo clams peer back at you from a well-executed linguine dish, each bivalve steeped in white wine and herbs while the noodles battle to cling to their butter-garlic base (marvelous).

Ravioli alla panna summons largish noodles filled with spinach and musty gorgonzola (a well-aged winner), all smothered in heavy cream sauce further bulked up by grated parmesan cheese (dairy-rich to a fault). Broad manicotti noodles envelop a spinach-ricotta core swimming in a hybrid house sauce (light cream, a smidge of cheese and plenty of tomato).

Additionally, all main courses are accompanied by a side of spaghetti marinara well worthy of individual attention (robust ragout is all garlic, onion and fleshy tomato bits).

According to Murillo, other top sellers include: a pan-seared, 14-ounce Chilean sea bass paired with steamed vegetables, a flash-grilled veal chop, spaghetti al gamberetto (featuring white wine-doused jumbo shrimp) and linguine Cleopatra (traditional seafood medley over pasta).

“All the pasta dishes are very well received,” he says of their core lineup.

And while he’s fairly convinced the Bolivian side probably brings in more new business—they sell approximately 3,000 saltenas per week, though the Andean pastries have long since graduated from weekend-only novelty to standard lunch fare as well—Murillo says the Italian cuisine remains the bedrock of his success.

“Italian food is always available at any hour,” he stresses.

a la lucia
315 Madison St., Alexandria; 703-836-5123; www.alalucia.com
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch, Monday through Friday, dinner daily.

What’s a nice Iranian boy doing dishing Southern Italian pasta on the periphery of Old Town Alexandria?

Amassing an army of stuffed-to-the-gills regulars. That’s what.

Michael Nayeri opened his modest eatery on Christmas Eve 2003, the culmination of a dream that began when he met then-up-and-coming chef Roberto Donna in 1982 whilst the two were working at D.C.’s Romeo and Juliet restaurant.

When the ambitious Donna established Galileo in 1984, Nayeri jumped ship to join him. He spent the next 20 years assisting Donna in nearly every capacity possible (from server to wine buyer), absorbing all the knowledge he could about the multifaceted hospitality trade.

During that hands-on education, Nayeri became fully versed in all things Northern Italian (Donna is a proud Torino). But when it was time to stake out on his own, Nayeri realized that he preferred the plainspoken preparations and fresh ingredients encapsulated in Southern Italian cuisine.

“I only know Italian food,” he says of his natural inclination to open an Italian restaurant of his own.

So far, his instincts appear to be dead on.

The quaint corner lot looks like nothing more than an industrial park office/storage space from the outside. But inside, the place is always abuzz with gregarious families passing plates around, chatty singles airing out their dirty laundry (She: “I’m a little too old to have kids, but I’m not too old, if you know what I’m saying.” He: nodding dumbly) and couples who eat in near-silence as they savor each dish that’s placed before them.

A semi-private rear dining room is decorated with frescos of peasants at market, assorted tile and ceramic crafts and a peek-a-boo glance at the restaurant’s glass-encased cellar. The much less formal front area splits space with the kitchen/host station, but still features enough room for some welcoming booths and free-floating tables.

Nayeri said regulars probably account for about 60 to 65 percent of his weekday business, but ballparked that maybe half the weekend traffic is new patrons/walk-in customers.

Meanwhile, the bar remains a locals-only playground. “The bar business is very steady regulars,” he says.

The only real advantage the bar stools have over the regular chairs is that you can enjoy the recently unveiled thin-crust pizzas during dinner (the made-to-order, Neapolitan-style are only served tableside at lunch).

Otherwise, the full menu is available at every seat in the house.

The lentil soup fails to impress on a chilly night (quality beans, but the watery base disappoints). A bite of fresh tomato-and-mozzarella bruschetta fares much better, the crunchy baguette, juicy tomatoes and not-quite-melted cheese working in concert to awaken the senses and very much open the appetite.

The salami-and-cheese carte proves to be a newcomer worth exploring. The rotating roster of nearly two dozen cured meats and international dairy products (gorgonzola dolce delivered unchecked creaminess tempered by moderate sweetness; a medium-bodied patacabra made believers out of some goat cheese virgins), invites patrons to create custom single, three-, four- or five-piece samplers with plenty of snacking appeal.

Non-do-it-yourselfers can ease right into eating with a ration of meatballs balanced atop polenta—the enticing pork and veal rounds already doused in herby marinara, with a sea of butter- and stock-charged grains begging to be scooped up beneath them.

Chubby rigatoni cuddle up to what seems like a pound of crumbled Italian sausage—which would be plenty spicy on its own, but skyrockets up the Scoville scale thanks to a generous helping of roasted red peppers and crushed red pepper flakes (so hot, yet so good).

A zesty stock predicated upon assorted herbs and abundant garlic provides the perfect backdrop for a seafood linguine boasting large, wine-soaked shrimp, anemic calamari rings (least exciting component of the bunch) and glossy, propped-open mussels.

The kitchen shows off its seafood savvy with a gorgeous roast branzino prepared with nothing more than lemon juice and sea salt. The crackling filet arrives drizzled with an invigorating lemon-butter sauce (less cloying than traditional béarnaise, but just as rich) and flanked by an aromatic mound of sauteed fennel (the shaved bulb bears the stamp of fresh oregano and olive oil).

“People just love the branzino,” Nayeri says of the seasonal favorite.

He says the kitchen always keeps fresh salmon and scallops on hand (purchased locally), and notes that he regularly scours seafood markets for delicacies like rockfish, striped bass, sardines, lobster and octopus. He lamented that Dover sole, because of its near-universal appeal, remains quite elusive (at reasonable prices, anyway).

Meanwhile, Nayeri is hoping the nascent pizza operation (he installed the brick oven this past spring) will prove to be a year-round draw. He says the restaurant is currently moving around about 500 pizzas per month (available for carryout, anytime), listing a fontina-and-prosciutto pie as a personal favorite and citing the sauce-less smoked mozzarella/arugula/bresaola combo as the top seller among pizza patrons.

Looking forward, Nayeri says he’s transformed the rear room into a tasting room on special occasions (Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve) and indicates that he’d like to continue developing more group-friendly events.

“I am hoping I can do, like, date nights on Fridays,” he says, offering up semi-regular wine tastings as another all-inclusive alternative.

The Espositos Pizza and Pasta
9917 Lee Highway, Fairfax; 703-385-5912
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for lunch and dinner daily.

Having reared almost an entire generation on their traditional Southern Italian cooking, Espositos co-owner/general manager Maria Esposito says she and brother Pasquale (he’s the head chef) are setting their sights on the next wave of potential patrons.

“Those are my future customers,” she says of the smiling faces that peer back at her from the burgeoning collage of customers’ kids’ snapshots that has claimed nearly an entire wall of the venerable Fairfax restaurant.

Esposito says she and her brother have helmed nearly a half dozen local dining projects over the past few decades—including what she claims was the first, genuine wood-burning pizza oven operation in Arlington—but the pair has remained firmly planted at their current location since 1982.

“Our father taught us the business,” she says of her introduction to the hospitality trade, getting her first taste of the restaurant world by working at her father’s restaurant on Route 1 in Alexandria.

Over the years, various family members spent time filling orders in Fairfax—“It used to be a big family, all of us here,” she says of their heyday—but many have since moved on (father retired and returned to Naples, Italy; another sibling walked away from pizza-making to pursue alternate business interests). Other servers have stayed on for over 20 years.

“The staff never moves in the front,” she says of the diehard loyalists who have become Esposito’s extended work family.

Likewise, Esposito says she sees many of the same faces from restaurants past—perhaps slightly more filled out and occasionally a tad more wrinkled—filling the seats to this day.

“I still have people coming from Wilson Boulevard,” she says of the devoted patrons who have added their own family and friends to the growing choir of supporters. “I like my customers … They’re wonderful people.”

The affection is clearly mutual.

On any given night, families fan out across the red-checked tablecloth-clad tables, ordering multiple pasta dishes and then passing them from person to person so everybody gets a little taste of this or that.

Children are not just tolerated, but welcomed with open arms. When one playful tot turned his plate of spaghetti into a work of conceptual art, a server begged the obviously flustered parents away from dropping to their knees to tidy up. “We’re not that busy. Someone can clean that up,” he assured them, citing his own travails of dining out with young charges.

During another visit, a chef emerged from the kitchen to quiz one picky youngster as to what type of sauces, noodles—miming out the approximate lengths with his fingers (“you want a short noodle,” he illustrated by pinching his fingers together, “or a looooooong noodle,” he teased while spreading his arms wide)—and ingredients (“You like mushrooms? What about carrots?”) he wanted for dinner.

“I made it special for you,” the chef announced as he paraded out the made-to-order creation to the wide-eyed youngster.

And while no chef ever popped by to solicit custom orders during our visits, many of the dishes we encountered seemed plenty special enough.

A mouthwatering mozzarella in carroza summons twin loaves of bread crumbs- and oregano-caked baked cheese lain to rest in a pool of garlic- and parmesan-speckled oil.

“I like it better with tomato sauce,” one companion shared, referring to the marinara-doused version favored by other establishments. I found the garlic bath much more seductive and was absolutely delighted by an accompanying anchovy filet (tiny fish, big flavor).

No such arguments about the spaghetti carbonara, a dish everyone agreed was a surefire winner. The wiggly noodles were coated in a luxurious eggy-parmesan sheen (the yolk-cheese mixture clinging to every strand) and bolstered by diced onions and curls of divinely fried bacon (browned but pliant, allowing its rich fattiness to invade every bite).

Twin chicken breasts prepared with white wine, lemon and fresh rosemary seemed somewhat oily, but were salvaged by sides of sauteed white mushrooms (hearty, savory fare) and plain spaghetti (help sop up the chicken runoff).

A generous helping (portion is plenty for one, appetizing for two) of lasagna seemed odd at first—the outer rim tasted vaguely compartmentalized, like a time-release noodle mold designed specifically to contain the meat and cheese mixture until two seconds after you pierce it with a utensil—but eventually won me over with its triple threat of seasoned ground beef, molten ricotta and baked-till-golden mozzarella crust.

The one truly dull spot was the lifeless salsiccia Contadina, which married pallid-looking sausage links (look like plain German franks, taste like pork-lite) with a wholesome marinara littered with diced peppers and onions (all the traditional components are there, but the anticipated whole never came together for me).

Looking forward, Esposito says she’s got some updates in mind. And with a new lease in hand and a rising tide of regulars at their back, the plan appears to be to remain as connected to the community as possible.

“We just want to grow and get old with our customers,” she says.

Rafagino Ristorante
9570 Old Keene Mill Road, Burke; 703-451-1570.
Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$). Open for dinner, Tuesday through Sunday.

Though physically located in the elbow of a Burke shopping complex, Rafagino more accurately resides at the intersection of principle and profit: that ideological no-man’s land inhabited by the most passionate of restaurateurs’ innate desire to educate palates without browbeating patrons.

Co-owners Paulo Carvalho (general manager) and Rosa Buono (head chef) have been welcoming guests to their tables for 13 years at their current location, though Carvalho notes that they’ve both worked their way through the hospitality trade over the past few decades (he opened and later sold a Portuguese restaurant in Ballston that became the Lebanese-themed Layalina; Buono opened a restaurant in Rome, had a hand in D.C.’s Romeo and Juliet restaurant and has dabbled in other local projects).

When the opportunity arose to join forces and launch Rafagino—which Carvalho explains is actually a composite of Buono’s parents’ nicknames: mother – Rafaela (Rafa), father – Luigi (Gino)—Buono wanted to stick with the Southern Italian cuisine of her youth (she was born in Puglia).

She soon discovered, however, that American tastes disagreed with her epicurean ideals.

“She realized she was running a business and not a school,” he says of the real-world lessons they learned about what sells and what doesn’t in suburbia.

Carvalho says his wife literally cringed when he suggested adding cannolis to the dessert carte (a traditionally Sicilian dish), balked at the notion of mass-producing lasagna (considered more of a family-style, comfort staple than a commercial offering) and, to this day, will not feature anything Alfredo.

“She refuses to put Alfredo sauce on the menu because it doesn’t exist in Italy,” he states (the dish, a variation on the plain butter-and-cheese sauce known as al burro, has been traced back to Roman restaurateur Alfredo di Lello, who became an insta-celebrity once the Hollywood elite embraced his cream-laden creation in the late 1920s).

As a customer service-oriented professional, Buono subsequently tailored her cooking to reflect American-Italian preferences while still adhering to the tenets (fresh ingredients, minimal saucing) of her early culinary training.

“We try to be as Italian as we can,” Carvalho says.

They certainly look the part.

The intimate, strip-mall slot is accented by muted yellow walls, vintage European liquor ads, Italian crooners on the house stereo, flickering, tableside oil lamps and bright gold tapestries (dampeners turned decor). Well-appointed servers circulate freely amongst guests without disturbing the peace, delivering/removing plates with utmost precision, routinely checking in (resetting napkins, refilling glasses, showering orders with freshly shaved parmesan) sans intrusion and providing sage counsel (a debate about some potentially filling pasta sequencing yielded warning about the density of both dishes and a much-appreciated recommendation to pursue a lighter second instead) without condescension.

The dining room houses less than two dozen tables—most of which seemed to be claimed by groups of friends and extended families during our visits.

“It’s always good having you back. Let your wife know we miss her,” Carvalho assured one patron as he held out the man’s overcoat after one meal. Another night, a server paused to hug another departing couple, sealing their status as cherished friends with encircled arms and warm wishes.
According to Carvalho, regulars account for roughly 65 percent of his business.

He notes that one gentleman in particular used to dine there almost exclusively (around four to five times a week) during the nine years he lived in the immediate area, and continues to pop in at least once or twice per week since moving to Arlington.

“I have a largely steady clientele that keeps coming back,” he says of his diehard diners, noting that it’s not uncommon for him and Buono to invite patrons to their home for dinner and vice versa.

“They share stories. We share stories. And a relationship develops,” he says of the outside-the-workplace friendships he’s fostered over the years.
One would only hope said patrons respond in kind when it’s their turn behind the stove.

A portion of Bolognese-covered gnocchi summons a dozen potato-ricotta nuggets smothered in savory meat sauce (plenty of seasoned ground beef and hearty tomato flavor) and melted mozzarella.

Cioppino yields a seafood-packed stew of fresh cod (light, tender fish), shrimp (fluffy, jumbo specimens), mussels (though I know I counted more than a few empty shells) and calamari (pleasantly chewy mini rings) impregnated by fragrant tomato broth (delightful).

A plate of cavatelli monte e mare pays dividends for days, bearing weighty pasta tubes bedecked with peas (well cooked, but still crunchy), jumbo shrimp, mushrooms and well-cured prosciutto bits (omnipresent pork adds bite to every forkful) in a wholesome vegetable broth (cream sauce would have been overkill).

The wheels come off on a lasagna rolata—a quartet of muddled noodle roll-ups stuffed with so-called seasoned ground beef (add more seasoning; I know I did) and an overly acidic tomato sauce (it would seem Buono knew best when she attempted to torpedo any lasagna offerings).

I’m won back over by a delectable tiramisu (one of only four homemade desserts, including caramel flan, vanilla flan and panna cotta with fresh berries) assembled from booze-soaked ladyfingers, wispy whipped topping, shaved chocolate and just the right amount of cinnamon.

Carvalho notes that most regulars know they can twist his arm and request long-retired specials or discontinued items, because Rosa and her crew always do their best to oblige. “I have a very versatile kitchen that can do whatever the customer likes,” he says.

It’s no wonder then, that when one waitress offered up a cheery, “See you soon,” to a departing guest, the quick-witted patron shot back, “Not till Thursday.”

(February 2009)

Tags: Italian, pasta