B&B Ristorante

This is clearly not your parents’ Italian joint. True, it has the subdued-colors-and-dark-woods look that supplanted plastic grapes and red-checked tablecloths a decade or so ago. But most good Italian restaurants these days have retained the aura that there’s a cranky old lady with rolled-down stockings presiding in the kitchen, and B&B, which most definitely is a good Italian restaurant, most decidedly has not.

Before I get any further, I’ll note that the less famous — or at least less flamboyant — "B" in B&B is Joe Bastianich. Though he may be known primarily as a winemaker, Bastianich comes by his food chops honestly as the son of the legendary Italian chef and cookbook writer Lidia Bastianich, who by now pretty much qualifies for old-lady status but who isn’t known for being cranky and who probably never wore rolled-down stockings.

So what have these two young(ish) men wrought?

I’ll admit that I wasn’t a big Batali fan before I went "unofficially" to B&B right after the opening a few months ago. Mario’s personality was always a little too molto for me, and since I hadn’t stopped in during my last visit to New York, my only experience with food that represented him was a taste-test of a jarred pasta sauce that … well, aside to Mario: You are not making fans by putting your name on that stuff and distributing it across the country.

But then I tasted the master’s Pappardelle Bolognese, and found it transporting, to another time and another place. But then there’s that rock music, and menu items like Frico with Peach and Caprino, and Goose Liver Ravioli. And that’s the beauty of Batali and Bastianich, and B&B: The place tastes like there’s an old lady in the kitchen, but she’s wearing Juicy Couture.

As in the grilled lamb chop ($36) with eggplant "in scapece," which means that it was marinated. The lamb chops were tender and flavorful, and ditto for the eggplant, but the unexpected touch here was the lemon yogurt that served to calm the flavor of the lamb and brighten the flavor of the eggplant.

A roasted beet salad ($14) was relatively standard on its surface; what made it special was the fact that numerous colors of beets — cut into numerous shapes and sizes and so ending up with numerous texture and flavor gradations — had been used, with any potential for beety monotony broken by the shower of ricotta salata julienne sprinkled atop.

Prosciutto San Danielle Riserva ($19) was notable for its relative rarity; we would’ve been hard-pressed to find prosciutto of this quality even a few years ago. The Fett’unta (basically bread with olive oil; either B or B or both are good with Italian terms that are obscure to most Americans) with cracked black pepper was an offbeat and quite complementary touch.

Roasted cherry tomatoes ($9) on the side were simple with their veil of olive oil, but notable for their quality and variety.

Our only quibble involved the homemade orechiette with sweet sausage and rapini ($23). I hesitated at this one because rapini can be a little on the bitter side, but I took a flier anyway. The rapini actually was fine — used sparingly, which put it in balance with the other elements of the dish. As I ate the perfectly al dente, almost nutty orichiette, I wondered at the poor kitchen slave who had formed every one of them, presumably over his or her finger. I also noted that they were the shape and size not of the "little ears" from which this pasta shape gets its name, but were more like little caps — but that was fine, because it just made them more effective at catching the nubs of sausage and ultra-light, tomato-based sauce.

No, my objection here was the sausage itself, which was, yes, sweet, but also very salty. But guess what? While I normally would eschew anything this salty, the dish was so good that I struggled along, just drinking lots of water along the way.

And about that water: While things were a little more relaxed than they were on my first informal visit, there still were traces of the pretension that seems to be obligatory for New York-based restaurants for a while after they open an outpost in our rustic little desert town. The hostess who seated us and the waiter’s assistants all struck the right note, but our waiter was still somewhat in the you-poor-heathen mode, and someone there still hasn’t gotten the "still or sparkling?" message. In a time when more and more progressive restaurants are dropping bottled water in favor of filtered for environmental reasons, it seems almost quaint.

Still, I have to give the staff major props on one point. After looking over the dessert menu, I said to an attending staff member (who may have been a sommelier) that we’d like to split the "limoncello," referring to the limoncello and poppy seed torta ($12). But as he walked away, I realized I hadn’t been clear, and when glasses of limoncello appeared, I told him I’d meant the dessert, not the lemon liqueur, but that I knew I hadn’t been clear and the substitution was fine; no problem. And yet we were served the dessert (which was quite delicious, with contrasting notes from plump blackberries and a scoop of basil sorbet) as well — and not charged for the drink, which was doubtless more expensive.

Service like that truly is molto.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expenses. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@ reviewjournal.com.