If the quality of a restaurant could be judged solely on the attractiveness of its clientele, then Bacaro — the newest New York City project from Frank De Carlo, owner of trendy and acclaimed Soho-area Peasant — would receive three stars. On a Thursday night in late December, a random survey of the restaurant revealed: a Rebecca Romijn look-alike and her equally drop-dead gorgeous friend, dining with their husbands and looking very unhappy to be so very far outside the comfortable confines of the upper East side; two investment-banker-types, sharing a bottle of wine and discussing iPhone technology in adorable British accents; one beautiful young Japanese performance artist and her fifty-year-old “benefactor”; a baby-faced restaurateur having vintage champagne at the bar, and looking distressed by the confusion of the service. In other words, the crème de la crème of New York’s trend-seekers, signifying that Bacaro has assumed destination status in the short time that it has been open.

This is a good (and necessary) thing, considering that Bacaro is actually kind of a pain to get to. Tucked away between empty storefronts and Asian delis, Bacaro is witness to a whole parade of taxis every evening, as in-the-know foodies of New York descend on this otherwise unassuming block in Chinatown. Inside, Bacaro closely resembles its sister restaurant Peasant, with a rustic décor vaguely reminiscent of New England barns and old wine cellars. The tiny upstairs portion of the restaurant belies its sizable subterranean space, where thick oak tables, exposed brick, weathered wooden doors, and exposed beams feel more country-manor-cozy than New York-chic. The impression is reinforced by the fact that you may or may not be seated at the same table as strangers (in my case, two strangers highly annoyed by the intrusion of my party on their date), and by the heavy wine goblets, thick and utilitarian cutlery, and plain, unadorned flatware.

Onto the food. Bacaro offers “small” portions (many of their dishes are actually quite sizeable) of well-prepared Italian staples: braised meats, prosciutto, octopus salad, lasagna, risotto. Typically some creative flourish distinguishes Bacaro dishes from their more traditional counterparts: Bacaro’s prosciutto, for example, is made from duck, and their lasagna eschews tomato sauce in favor of béchamel. The truth is, however, that Bacaro does not try too hard to innovate, and its food is notable not for its inventiveness but for the simplicity and success of its execution. The polpette, or tiny fried meatballs, were both crunchy and moist, and perfectly seasoned. The lasagna, layered with braised radicchio, a deliciously rich béchamel sauce, and perfectly al dente noodles, came bubbling straight from the oven, letting off the heavenly smell that only melting cheese can produce. Even the green salad—a mixture of fennel, arugula, and radicchio, which we asked the kitchen to prepare to help temper the richness of the lasagna—was perfectly executed, finished with a nice, crisp vinaigrette. For dessert we had a delicious slice of flourless hazelnut chocolate cake (a slight misnomer, since it more closely resembled a truffle or a slice of fudge) topped with alcohol-soaked raisins. Only the raisins seemed a strange and unnecessary accompaniment, which again suggests that Bacaro’s success lies in the perfect execution of more straightforward recipes, and not in experimentation. The wines, like the food, are simple, robust, and accessible.

The friendly and unpretentious atmosphere, the rustic beauty of the space, the quality of the food (and the ease with which it can be shared), and the reasonable prices (dishes between $8 and $28, for the most part), make this a perfect place to catch up with a group of friends or linger over a good meal with a loved one. A word of caution, however: make sure that you really like whomever you take with you, because your meal is likely to extend a good forty-five minutes longer than expected. (Read: not a good bet for a first date, a reunion with an old boyfriend or girlfriend, or a place to take your estranged sister/cousin/ex-best-friend.) It’s possible that the restaurant is still struggling to find its rhythm, but the service was some of the slowest and least reliable I’ve seen in a restaurant of Bacaro’s caliber. The waiter came to the table twice — once to take our order, and once to ask if we wanted dessert — and since he seemed otherwise to vanish mysteriously into the ether, had we wanted to order any additional dishes, or request a wine list in the middle of the meal, or ask a question, we would have been plain out of luck.

Still, for a long, comfortable evening surrounded by the beautiful people, noshing on food that will leave you nostalgic for the Venetian grandmother you never had, Bacaro just can’t be beat.

Bacaro
136 Division Street
New York, NY
Tel: (212) 941-5060

-Written by Laura Schechter (schechter.laura@gmail.com)

Laura Schechter is a New Yorker simultaneously pursuing her M.F.A. in creative writing from NYU and her next great meal.