Here, Kitty

BY CARLA WALDEMAR

Calhoun Square
Lake & Hennepin
612-822-1688

If it ain’t broke—fix it. That’s the—OK, counterintuitive but often savvy—strategy a successful restaurant employs to stay successful. Wait till the booths are shabby and the chef is phoning in the menu, and it’s too late to resuscitate a dying clientele.

Thus the Italian godfathers behind Parasole Restaurant Corp. put the finger on Figlio (it’s probably at the bottom of the Mississippi) and installed Il Gatto (Italian for “the cat”) in its place in Calhoun Square, adding (they hope) nine more lives to its lease on the busiest intersection in the metro (fact, not speculation).

The attitudinal new heir apparent sports a subtly spiffed-up décor that now melds the eternally-hyper bar with the once-sedate dining room. But the crowd these boys are after doesn’t do “sedate.” Bye-bye, baby boomers; hello, Millenials (who, due to the new design features, are destined to have about five more years of hearing power before they’re doomed to reading lips, it’s
that noisy. And popular. And crowded).

If you can hear your waiter, you’ll benefit from his informed suggestions, based on pre-opening tastes of everything on the list. We found out the hard (read: expensive) way, by trial and error. Thus, I’m prepared to tell you, among the small plates ($4-7), the wood-grilled asparagus is a winner. The crisp and gently smoky spears come topped with a shower of sharp, nutty Pecorino cheese plus a just-lightly-poached egg. The plan is to burst the jiggly yolk and let it slither over the heap of green logs to act as an ultra-rich dressing.

On the other hand, the starter of mozzarella in carrozza—housemade mozz smothered in red sauce—is just that: Don’t bother. A salad of baby field greens tossed with pungent, creamy Gorgonzola, snippets of sweet, dried cherries and atoms of pecans (you’ll need a magnifying glass) is tasty, but the same setup you’ll find everywhere in town. Seafood is Il Gatto’s forte, and the starter of wood-grilled octopus in limoncello vinaigrette doesn’t disappoint. (The kitchen makes its own addictive, super-sweet limoncello.) Entrees are grandissimo, so plan to share, or go home with a kitty bag. We pigged out on the beyond-fab porchetta, moist and tender as your nonna’s kiss. It’s accompanied by a sweet-savory chutney of mustard and stone fruits and a lovely lode of mealy roast potatoes. The short ribs also proved comfort-food deluxe, served with a suave, saffron tinged risotto.
Some pastas were swell, some weren’t. The stratocasta number— “guitar-string” pasta incorporating squid ink—came tossed with bits of crab and sea urchin: overwhelming and—worse—unacceptably mushy. Like hotdish at a church supper (well, minus the sea urchins). A plate of gnocchi came buried in an avalanche of ragu. Instead, go straight for the bucatini carbonara—made just as God intended, of thick, burly but pliable noodles tossed with another of those yielding eggs, along with sharp-salty pancetta and a dusting of Parmesan. Pizzas also roll out of the wood-burning oven ($12 range, untasted), almost the only carry-over from the Figlio menu. Half a dozen desserts ($7) loom for the strong of heart, and stomach. The sage panna cotta proved smooth and rich (it’d better be!) but light on the touted herb. It’s served with pears stewed in Port. Or try the chocolate cake with salted caramel ice cream; canneloni filled with orange-scented ricotta and Orangina ice cream; and more.