As happens from time to time here at bustling SF Weekly headquarters, a series of electronic pulses arrived via Internet bearing testimonial to a superlative dining experience. (In other words, a reader sent an e-mail, suggesting a restaurant.) "Sandra," about whom little is known, recommended one "Ristorante Ideale" on Grant Avenue, ostensibly because she'd come across something special and, out of the goodness of her heart, wanted to share her find with others. "Take my word, you'll regret that you hadn't tried it sooner. It's the best Italian out there!" she claimed.
Anthony Pidgeon
The Dessert Is On: Chef Maurizio Bruschi with his tiramisu.
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1309 Grant (at Green), 391-4129. Open for dinner Tuesday through Saturday from 5:30 to 10:30 p.m. (11 p.m. on weekends), Sundays from 5 to 10 p.m. Reservations accepted. Wheelchair accessible. Parking: miracles happen, but rarely. Muni: 15, 30, 45. Noise level: low to moderate
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Of course, I immediately saw through this wretched ploy, for, as every San Franciscan knows, such secrets must be guarded carefully, to prevent the masses from overrunning our favorite haunts. Surely this "Sandra" must have had an ulterior motive -- perhaps a relative (or "Sandra" herself) owned Ideale, or perhaps she was Ideale's very clever and devious publicist. Or perhaps "Sandra" was a writer from a competing newspaper who hoped to divert SF Weekly from the city's real "best" Italian, or, even more cunningly, a competitor who realized Ideale was without peer, anticipated my train of thought, and sent the suggestion precisely because she knew no one would go.
There was no way to be sure without visiting this "Ristorante Ideale," if such a thing even existed. And if the place did exist, I vowed to subject it to a scrutiny of the highest order, and therefore enlisted the help of two of my favorite North Beach locals -- James and Tabitha -- who had also heard of Ideale but had never had an opportunity to drop by.
Now, if you know James and Tabitha, you know they don't screw around when they step out. A former assistant sommelier, James waits tables at a high-end restaurant with which most city dwellers are familiar, whereas Tabitha graduated from one of the nation's premier culinary institutes, and is now a manager at an equally well-known (and likewise swank) North Beach ristorante.
During their work week -- Tuesday through Saturday -- James and Tabitha eat whatever they want, for free, so when they head out they tend to push things right to the edge in pursuit of new levels of food-induced bliss. For example: Before visiting Ideale, we stopped by the pre-opening party for Belon in the Hotel Metropolis at Turk and Mason, where the champagne flutes were brimming and a seemingly endless array of appetizers -- three kinds of pâté, pastries with duxelles, whisper-light tempura'd vegetables, and, of course, magnificently salty belon oysters on the half-shell -- made the rounds at former Rubicon Chef de Cuisine Paul Arenstam's promising new brasserie.
After recruiting a fourth diner, a bartender named Thad, we left a place where everything was free and made our way to North Beach, turning down Grant not so much because we thought we'd actually find parking, but because it was a good place to start. A spot opened up, which the car in front of us promptly nabbed (this being part of the quintessential North Beach experience). Then, the myriad galaxies that dot the ever-expanding universe aligned themselves into an "I," Bill Gates became handsome, and, even more incredibly, a second spot opened up right next to it.
Appearancewise, Ideale looks like a cross between the old Campo Santo and an artsy Guerrero Street cafe -- brightly colored walls hung with equally vivid paintings, yellowish lighting, a simple but well-done mosaic. The waiters, at least when we visited, looked more like Fabio -- long-haired, Italian, kind of swaggering -- which isn't really my ideal, but then, "Sandra" may feel differently. One of them kept ... sniffing, prompting a round of heated whispers: Either something was going on here, or, as was more likely, Tabitha should have opted for a less formal look and left her mohair evening gown at home.
In a neighborhood bursting with mediocre Italian restaurants, Ideale could be described as a place that beautifully breaks the mold. Even our bread -- a dense, lightly salty white loaf -- felt a breath of oven before arriving, imbuing it with a pleasant aura of warmth. We needed booze, of course, and James selected the Toro Princic tocai friulano ($26) -- a very light, dry, almost coy white wine that, like a nice girl who won't kiss you on the first date, does so splendidly when the wall finally comes down.
At "Sandra"'s suggestion, we got things started with the insalata di zucchini ($7.75), a pyramid of julienned zucchini tossed with truffle oil and lemon, served over crostini smeared with a mild truffle pâté. Again, the use of heat showed a certain thoughtfulness -- the bread was just a touch above room temperature, the zucchini a shiver below, the mark of a kitchen that cares. Our insalata di spinaci ($6.75) was likewise well-executed and fresh: The heap of organic spinach and cherry tomatoes was sprinkled with walnuts and a light mustard vinaigrette, then topped with bits of goat cheese so airy they seemed to have achieved a new state of matter somewhere between solid and gas.
After stepping outside for a midmeal smoke I returned to find one of my favorite Italian reds gracing our table: a Remo Farina amarone classico ($44). Pressed from partially dried grapes, the wine bore the unique, smoky quality found only in amarones, caressing the tongue like a cool evening wind.
