The Chic-Cheap Showdown: Italian

A Voce

41 Madison Ave. (at 26th St.)
212-545-8555

Subway: R, W to 28th St

For my first installment, I have chosen a fairly impossible task: choose one location for a splurge and one for a bargain on Italian food. In this city, everyone has a favorite neighborhood Italian and a favorite fancy pasta purveyor, so I have decided to narrow my field slightly. I have chosen my two favorite romantic, modern Italian eateries: in the splurge corner, A Voce, in the bargain corner, Max SoHa .

First the splurge: A Voce, located on 26th St at Madison Ave, has appeared on virtually every list of the hottest and/or best new restaurants of the year, from New York magazine to Conde Nast Traveler. You might describe the room as British luxury meets Scandinavian chic—swiveling Eames chairs in beige leather, large, spherical lamps over the bar, cool, orange lighting, and dark-wood tables with bottle green, leather tops. It’s a beauty of a room, but nothing in it so much as hints at Italy. That is, until the menu arrives. From the appetizers, my table chose the duck meatballs with dried cherry mostarda, and Sardinian Sheep’s Milk Ricotta with sea salt, herbs, and olive oil. Neither of these starters was a showstopper. Instead, the flavors of these sensational dishes were so subtle, soft, and disarmingly rich that they acted as a sort of comfort blanket, breaking down all possible resistance. The ricotta especially, whipped to a mouse-like consistency and served with grilled and seasoned bread, tasted at first like pure air. Not until a few bites in did the soft flavor of the cheese creep up on me, followed by the gentle bite of the sea salt and the supple sweetness of the olive oil. I moaned aloud.

The main courses continued in the vein of Italian comfort foods. For our main courses we ordered the gnocchi with lamb ragu and ricotta, and the jumbo prawns, one of the daily, market-driven specials. The gnocchi literally melted in my mouth, and the shrimp were tender and fresh, served over a mixed bean salad so rich and flavorful that it could have made a sufficiently delicious appetizer. On the side we ordered wild mushroom orso with truffle oil and white string beans with parmigian, pine nuts, and onion, both outrageously good.

The desserts at A Voce surprised and delighted me. We ordered a peach tart, an olive oil cake, and bomboloni, cream-filled Italian doughnuts with dark chocolate dipping sauce. Though all three were delicious, the olive oil cake was absolutely my favorite.

Max SoHa

1274 Amsterdam Ave. (at 123rd St.)
212-531-2221

Subway: 1 to 125th St.

If A Voce presents you with the kind of Italian home cooking that you could never really cook at home, Max SoHa, on Amsterdam Ave at 123rd St, serves a meal that feels like the first meal you cook for a date that you really want to impress, except in this scenario you actually do manage to impress said date. Instead of A Voce’s confident swankness, Max SoHa trades in casual, neighborhood charm—exposed brick walls, about 10 tiny tables, mismatched chairs, chalkboard specials, walls decorated in wine bottles (still my favorite aesthetic statement), and ample amounts of candlelight. Actually, for my money—and quite a bit less of it at that—Max SoHa is far more romantic than A Voce, if less sexy.

I have less to say about individual dishes at Max SoHa mostly because, as my neighborhood Italian place, it’s enough for me to know that anything I order will be delicious. I have ordered pasta, meat, and fish from the regular menu and the specials and have found myself neither disappointed nor blown away; I invariably leave Max SoHa happy and content, with a smile on my face, and a widespread hand on my belly. And generally I can leave with around $15 dollars missing from my wallet.

Okay, so this isn’t really a showdown, because there’s no winner (except me, because I’ve eaten at both places). The food at A Voce is more impressive, certainly, but then so is the bill (thank God for visiting parents); the room may be sleeker, but the intimate charm of Max SoHa never fails to loosen the knots in my shoulders. Ultimately, A Voce and Max SoHa are kindred spirits separated only by cool and cost…oh, and about 100 blocks.

Pleasant? Casual? Lower East Side? Well which is it?

Falai Panetteria
79 Clinton St (Rivington St.)
212-777-8956

I know, I know—the Lower East Side is a pretty terrifying place, the air so thick with self-righteous irony and hipster ennui that every exhalation comes out as a bored sigh. But have no fear, for there remains another Lower East Side, a place shaded by trees rather than oversized aviators, a place where the alleys remain skinnier than the jeans.

I discovered recently on a walk through Lower Manhattan that the spread of hipsterfication has—at least as of now—essentially stopped at Ludlow St. The streets to the east of Ludlow remain happily characterful (and I don’t mean full of characters, which would be an apt description of Ludlow and Orchard streets.) Though Suffolk and Norfolk streets offer little in the way of entertainment, one block further you’ll find Clinton St.

Among the restaurants studding Clinton St. like culinary jewels in a tinpan alley crown, is the quaint Falai Panetteria, the bakery branch of the more formal Falai a block away. About the only thing I can say of Falai Panetteria is that it is unerringly pleasant, nothing more and nothing less, but that is no small praise. A couple of hours into my walk, I was hungry, tired, and needing a place to rest my feet. Falai Panetteria, with its bright white walls, blue chairs, and stacks of freshly baked bread, seemed like a perfect choice. I was immediately afraid upon entering that I had inadvertently found my way back to Orchard St. The staff and clientele were, I dare say, hipsters, but of a different breed. Present were the skinny jeans, American Apparel, and ironic pop music (was that “Living on a Prayer” I heard?), absent the smug condescension.

I walked up to the counter, ordered one of the day’s specials, a baby octopus salad with potatoes, mixed greens, and sun-dried tomatoes in pesto. A moment later the waitress placed a basket of thick, doughy, rosemary-olive bread in front of me (delicious), but there was no olive oil in sight (strange). Within ten minutes, my salad arrived. Like the bright, clean room and the service, the salad was quite nice, nothing special, but enjoyable. What Falai deemed pesto was more like olive oil with basil, but not bad for that, just mislabeled. The octopus was the strange part, mostly delicious and tender, occasionally rubbery and over-cooked. Alas.

Still, the salad was large and filling and only cost me $11. I didn’t get a chance to sample the desserts, but the ample offerings of tarts and pastries looked enticing indeed. I wouldn’t go out of my way to get back to Falai Panatteria, but if I ever find myself fearing for my life among the hollow gazes of the hipsters, I won’t hesitate to duck in for, if not an absolutely safe haven, then at least a pleasant one.