January 21–28, 1999

food

Sunflower Power

Italian comfort food with some delightful surprises.

by Maxine Keyser

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Girasole

1305 Locust St., 215-985-4659. Lunch: Monday-Friday, Noon-2:30 p.m. Dinner: Monday-Thursday, 5-10:30 p.m.; Friday-Saturday, 5-11 p.m. Sunday, 4:30-10:30 p.m. Wheelchair accessible. Credit cards accepted.

		Bountiful: Girasole's Insalata ai formaggi.

After years of bemoaning the lack of regional Italian restaurants in Philadelphia (before the opening of Vetri, Toto and DiPalma), I am ashamed to admit that I had completely overlooked Girasole. At 13th and Locust, it is only seven blocks from my home, and I know it has a loyal following, especially among concert and theatergoers; but somehow I just never got around to it. So it was serendipity that led me there the other evening, and I had a truly delightful meal.

First, I was charmed by the cheery glow of the room, with its pale yellow faux-stucco walls, terra cotta tiles and the sunflower (girasole in Italian) theme which appears in large photographic reproductions on the walls, on the pottery vases and pitchers, even the dinner plates. Driving on a country road in Italy, in high summer, you can spy in the distance what appear to be large crowds of people, all looking up at the sky. Closer in, you realize these are girasoles, miles of them, swaying on their tall stalks, turning their smiling faces to the sun. And when you return in the evening, their heads are drooping, seemingly with disappointment at the absence of that fiery sun. Their oil and seeds are an essential part of the Mediterranean culture, so what better logo for a restaurant that brings us that culture in their cuisine. Franco Iovino, the owner, is Neapolitan, so we immediately think of red sauces, and good vegetables, and all the bounty of the sea. We get that, and some surprises, too.

A handsome steel and glass bar greets you at the entrance, and you are seated at tables topped with patterned marble such as you would find on the facades of duomos in Florence or Siena. The chairs and banquettes are done in black and tan heraldic patterns, the hanging fixtures appear Florentine in their intricacy, and the wood-burning oven at the rear anchors the room. The waitstaff (two smiling girls and David, who is from Rome) are most helpful, bringing Campari ($6) and a house wine ($5) for us, pouring green-gold olive oil onto plates to use with the dense, home-baked bread. The bread also serves as a base for some impromptu bruschetta, topped with either roasted peppers or smoked salmon and garnished with olives and chunks of Parmegiano-Reggiano.

I'm surprised at the scope of the menu. There are at least 10 antipasti, ranging from baked eggplant with smoked mozzarella ($7.50) to a cold salad of shrimp, scallops, calamari, mussels and clams ($9.50), two soups, and almost an entire page of different versions of carpaccio.

The standard carpaccio of filet mignon ($9.50) is one of the best and most copious I've had. The thinly sliced beef dish, named for the shade of red preferred by the Italian painter Carpaccio, is sprinkled with that same fragrant olive oil, and shaved parmesan, and melts voluptuously on your tongue. I am totally wowed by the carpaccio of swordfish ($9.50), its sheer slices spread so thinly on the plate that it appears to echo the pattern of the marble tabletop. Its texture in your mouth is similar to the meat version, but it has a creamy hint of brine, enhanced by drizzles of lemon juice and oil.

I marvel at Girasole's knack for simmering chunks of calamari in a light tomato sauce ($7.50) and managing to infuse the fish with flavor without toughening it. At most restaurants it ends up tasting like rubber bands. More surprising is that even though the calamari continues to bubble away in its earthenware crock, it remains tender.

David the waiter, amused by our inability to decide on a pasta, has prepared a platter of three varieties to try. I am partial to the tagliatelle with artichokes and peas ($9.50). The noodles have the sheen and the toothsome texture of homemade pasta (most of the pastas are homemade), and remain al dente in this creamy sauce. I also enjoy the oricchiette ($9), its little ear-shaped cups perfect for holding the mixture of bitter broccoli rabe, sun-dried tomatoes and oil—more a sheen than a sauce. David has dusted all of our pastas with parmesan grated right from a block. The ever-reliable deep purple Dolcetto ($28) that we have chosen from the mainly Italian and approachable wine list goes very well with tomato sauces, and admirably cuts through the creamier ones.

Cotoletta di vitello alla Milanese ($16.50) is really a breaded veal cutlet, but what a veal cutlet! The snowy meat within the golden crust is a tenderloin that has been butterflied so that it will lie flat and sauté properly. Topped with a salad of arugula and diced tomatoes, it is attractive as well as tasty. Sautéed Dover sole ($27.50, daily special) is always a good test of a particular kitchen, and this one turns it out quite well. The flesh is slightly firm and sweet, its juiciness insured by a light dusting of flour before it goes into the pan. Boned at tableside, and sauced with a blend of butter, lemon and capers, it is particularly enjoyable.

Then the pièce de résistance arrives. It appears to be a white marble sculpture, but it is another daily special—spigola (in the sole family, $32) that is baked in a salt crust. A paste of salt, flour and water completely encloses the whole fish, it is baked, and when presented, the waiter cuts through the crust, debones the fish and serves its unbelievably moist and sapid meat with just a squeeze of lemon. I can see this ritual being enacted in fine dining rooms all over Italy, and it's a splendid performance. All entrees come with roasted potatoes and sautéed spinach that has a hint of red pepper.

Desserts in Italy are usually nonchalantly displayed on a side table, for your inspection during the course of the meal. That's how they do it at Girasole, so we can look things over and decide on a raspberry cream tart that is just right—flaky crust, light custard and fresh raspberries; lemon meringue tart with the same type of crust and a tangy lemon filling beneath a thin layer of meringue; tiramisu, a fine version of this woefully overdone dessert; and tartufo—not the classic with a cherry center, but a coffee one instead, and still good. (All were $6.) True espresso ($2.50) followed (coffee and tea are $1.50) and a selection of liqueurs including Strega and Limoncello.

At Girasole, the food and the atmosphere are comfortably Italian. The cooking is solid and traditional, without pretension or experimentation. The swordfish carpaccio and the salt-baked fish are exceptions—they are classics that illustrate the level that the chef can attain. Girasole also offers 12 different pizzas ($8.50-$13.95) that are as delicious as pizza from a wood-burning oven should be. So you see, you can eat a lot or a little at this charming trattoria—it will all be good. Mi scusi, Signor Iovino, I should have come sooner