The Latest Scoop on Scott Conant's New Meatpacker

By 2003, Conant was born a celebrity chef after a decade of workingin the trenches. Oddly located in Tudor City, L'Impero was aninstant hit with its louche, circa-1935 cocktail-loungedécor, and menu of rich, salty, and garlicky Italianfare—including a slightly drier spin on the baby goat. Acouple of years later, Conant added Alto to his list of triumphswith a boldly conceived menu focusing on Italy's northern AltoAdige region, tendering adaptations of rustic mountain fare withstartling flavors like juniper and horseradish, flinging slivers oftruffle like spent matchsticks.

Scott's stint at Alto was short-lived—his menu was toorefined and revolutionary at the same time—and the chef leftthe restaurant far behind him. Now he's turned up in themeatpacking district at Scarpetta, where he's the owner as well asthe chef—clearly a career milestone. The place occupies theformer Village Idiot, a dive known for its country-western jukeboxand $5 pitchers of Bud. These days, you wouldn't recognize thespace: The skylit dining room floods with warm light as the sunsets, the tables are well spaced, and a friendly staff keeps themeal on an even keel.

Literally, Scarpetta means "little shoe," but in Italian slang, itrefers to a small piece of bread used to scoop up sauce. Thebreadbasket is a miracle of selection, featuring white bread withan airy crumb; a dense, sea-salty focaccia; a crusty dinner roll;and a spin on Brooklyn lard bread opulently stuffed with ham andcheese. The breads come with three dips, including lemon-infusedolive oil, chunky eggplant caponata, and awhipped-butter-and-mascarpone mix. Scoop away.
The baby goat has wandered back onto the menu as "moist roastedcapretto" ($29), now a hopelessly rich hash incorporatingartichokes as well as potatoes. The meat no longer seems roasted,but who cares? Other main courses my crew and I relished were aconcentrated pyramid of veal osso buco on a plinth of fever-yelloworzo (the pasta that tried to become rice), and a crisp-skinnedswatch of black cod with oven-roasted tomatoes and fennel.

The main courses, however, pale in brilliance compared with thepastas. Foremost, we have the amazing agnolotti dal plin ($24), astandard from Piemonte that Conant, in a Times interview, declared was the last thing he wanted to eat before hedied. These bulbous misshapen pouches contain a divine mix of veal,truffles, and cabbage so finely puréed that it would makeexcellent toothpaste—though you'd insist on swallowing itafter brushing. If you want to freak yourself out with richness,I'd recommend the duck-and-foie-gras raviolis ($22), which resembleRevolutionary War tri-corner hats. Less successful is thecalamarata—not squid, but squid-shaped pasta lavished withsea urchin fresher than you'll find in most sushi bars. Though itcomes prettily sprinkled with green minted bread crumbs, theflavors don't quite come together.

Against all odds, the appetizers surpass the two succeedingcourses. From among them we selected another of Conant'smasterpieces from the City Eatery era—polenta with mushroomsauce ($16), finding the cornmeal porridge viscous and buttery andthe fungal selection exhaustively truffled. Even better was a soupthat listed ceci (chickpeas) as a main ingredient, conferring starstatus on them by featuring a mere handful in a yellow broth withbits of sausage and cabbage. I could eat this every day. The frittomisto is very good, but then you can get an equally good version inalmost any modern Italian these days. Instead, turn to the braisedshort ribs, another Conant classic, in which boneless slices ofrich meat malinger on a soupy risotto made with the Roman grainfaro. Eating it will make you march like a legionnaire.