Sipping a $9 martini, I'm reminded how Hendrick's Gin promotes itself as appreciated by the very few. If you happen to like it — or tell yourself that you do — you join the elite. You get it.
Oakland's Oliveto, celebrating 20 years this weekend, has a similar reputation. The cuisine blurs the
difference between rustic and refined, presenting fare so
uncluttered, it makes the plain white plate underneath seem ornate.
You'll like it, certainly. But will you love it? Is the
concept bold, or is it just boldly priced? Foodies on Chowhound.com
have a thread on this point. It's an open question.
I take in the menu with Dave, an old friend who was chef of
Mirassou Winery for a dozen years. We're stumped. I don't mean the
menu is a mystery (although there are some obscure Italian terms),
but it is a puzzle. We want it all.
 Our waitress on this early Friday evening is pleasant and
present. She gamely helps us select Italian wines to go with the
varied three-course meals we've chosen.
I'm a big fan of Oliveto, but I've rarely dined on a
normal night. The restaurant is known for its theme dinners — menus
centered around pork or truffles or polenta or tomatoes — all of
which I've willingly broken my budget for.
In essence, every night is theme night: a celebration of the
finest products available. Paul Bertolli, the chef here for a
decade, took that concept to an almost neurotic degree.
Paul Canales, crowned in 2005 but the default chef for many
years, continues that passion with greater intensity, but less
gravity. Where Bertolli was intimidating, Canales is infectious.
Which makes Canales a better fit with ever-present owners Maggie and
Bob Klein.
Bob has the playful self-possession of a bear swiping salmon,
while Maggie might be nearby, dangling her feet in the stream,
sketchbook in hand (she's responsible for design and illustrates the
menus).
Our waitress assumes (thank you) that we aim to share. A
fillet of mackerel ($15.50), its skin black and golden, calls me
first. Its honeyed flesh startles me — the sweet residue from batons
of dried persimmons hydrated in syrup. Then I chew. It's crisp,
charred but supple. This fish is profoundly fresher than the grilled
mackerel I relished at a sushi restaurant just the previous week. I
shake my head in wonder.
We leave the plate scattered with sweet batons, which in the
universe of Oliveto is a sin — rarely is anything on the
plate superfluous.
Breast of guinea hen ($14.50), bred to plump perfection by
Hoffman Farms, then poached for maximum succulence, arrives chilled
in rosy rounds. It's topped with a scattering of capers, fragrant
celery and a drizzle of tonnato — a tangy gray emulsion of tuna,
mayo and anchovy.
Perhaps a $4.99 rotisserie bird from Costco would match the
moistness, but it's hard to imagine any poultry pairing so well with
the refreshing acidity of our Jermann Pinot Grigio ($68). "It's nice
to have chicken with flavor," Dave says.
Homemade pastas arrive next. Pappardelle with rabbit ($14.50)
is a classic, but I've never had it like this. The wide noodles are
made partly with chestnut flour, creating a dark pasta that eats
like shreds of pot roast. The tender nuggets of white rabbit are
remarkable, but the flavor is best captured once the last bite is
gone. A swipe and lick of the oily residue on the plate lingers like
a fine wine.
The tangle of taglierini ($14.50) teases me still today. Its
taste couldn't have been more gentle — parsley mixed with sea
breeze, perhaps — but the chewy pasta and tiny clams create a
memory.
The dining room slowly filled as we fell into our plates, but
the table right next to ours remained happily empty until now. A
couple squeezes in, knocking over Dave's last swallows of pinot
grigio. They're soon chatting about the price of homes in Sausalito,
seemingly unaware of the disruption.
No matter. We move on to Le Grive ($65), an Italian blend of
barbera and pinot noir. It's pretty with restrained fruit and an
intriguing forward note that keeps me curious.
I made porchetta from a small whole boneless pig for my
parents 50th anniversary last year, so I was anxious to try
Oliveto's version ($26). Canales ties the belly and loin from
a Willis Farm pig into a tight bundle and spit-roasts it.
The only accompaniment to the thick slice of lukewarm pork is
a blanket of glistening garlicky salsa verde. I can see where a
diner might turn pale. Some bites are practically all jellied fat,
while others are lean and chewy. But I slowly get acquainted,
combining textures and finding my appetite replenished after each
bite by the ultra-fresh salsa. Soon I'm swooning, recounting the
many flaws of my version.
The flesh of our last savory dish, black cod ($30), is so
buttery, it requires no teeth to chew. They help, though, for the
bits of cauliflower and pickled beets that accentuate the meltingly
tender fish.
Cunning contrasts also distinguish the desserts, which we
enjoy with pots of tea. The tangy crumb of a moist Meyer lemon cake
($9) makes a spoonful of creme fraiche seem impossibly rich, while
an ultra-dense caramel ice cream is nicely complicated by wet,
brandied plums.
Bob spotted me as we awaited our entrees, and took us back to
his office after dinner to show us one of the films he's produced
(and is showing at this weekend's celebration) that document soulful
characters he's met and done business with as Oliveto has
evolved.
It's obvious that community and style have played major roles
in Oliveto's success. But after trying 10 dishes (when you
toss in our sides of bacony brussels sprouts and corny polenta),
it's clear what makes Oliveto worth the price.
"At the heart of it is the food," says Bob, whose wont is to
give as much credit to Maggie's aesthetics as he does to Canales and
the kitchen.
If creatures have to give their life for human pleasure,
Oliveto shows the greatest respect for their sacrifice. It
restores my faith in mankind.
I think I get it.
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