From the outside, the restaurant is nondescript. Inside, it is an oasis of old-world style and décor, with tapestry-covered walls, mirrors, a big fireplace, and comfortable armchairs surrounding twenty or so tables on two levels. There is also a private dining area upstairs devoted to private affairs and special meals for the many regulars. Take a trip to the restroom located down a steep staircase in the cellar and you will pass by one of the largest collections of Italian wines in the country, stacked and racked locked behind ornate iron cages. In fact, the whole basement is a temperature-controlled wine room.
On Saturday night I arrived right on time for my eight o’clock reservation, having arrived in Philadelphia just a few hours earlier. This was to be an unusual dinner for me, in that I was dining alone. My regular companion on the trip was forced to cancel his trip due to some unforeseen circumstances, and I confess that after flying all day I was sorely tempted to cancel my reservation and just eat at the hotel or one of the tens of restaurants within a block or two of my Center City digs. I am glad I didn’t succumb, and after a hot shower, a change of clothes, and a double espresso my second wind arrived.
I was greeted warmly at the door, and waited behind a party of ten young Japanese executives. I mentioned to the hostess that my party of two had unfortunately become a party of one, and she assured me that was no problem. She escorted me to our regular table just across from the fireplace on the lower level, and wished me good dining.
I was greeted immediately by a server who brought me some bottled still water and the list of wines by the glass. A moment or two later my waiter arrived, a young Turkish gent who speaks fluent Italian, and he surprisingly recognized me from years past. He immediately said, “Where’s the other guy?” referring to my dining companion of the last many years there. I told him what had happened, and he frowned and said, “Could be a wine problem.”
"How so?"
"I don't think you will want to drink your normal three bottles by yourself!" he replied.
“I have no problem drinking wine by the glass,” I said, “Do you have any good Italian whites?”
He made a scrunchy face and said, “No,” then added, “You usually drink a bottle of lighter white to start, correct?”
“Correct.”
He left without a word and returned two minutes later with a glass of straw-colored wine and handed it to me. I took a sip and pronounced it delicious, and asked him what it was.
“Orvieto,” he said, “Which is what you usually order first, am I right?”
I was amazed at his memory. He told me he opened it especially for me, and would charge me the price of the Pinot Grigio by the glass, which was quite generous as the Orvieto was easily double the price.
And so, on to the food. La Famiglia is an intensely traditional restaurant, and the wait staff have been known to turn decidedly chilly when diners try to deviate from the three-course Antipasti-Primi-Secondi format. I have sampled the various Antipasti over the years, but now that I am limited to dining there once a year, twice at best, I have habitually ordered the Carpaccio di Manzo, wafer thin slices of raw beef filet simply dressed with lemon juice, extra-virgin olive oil, capers, scallions, and Grana Padano, and garnished with arugula. For the past couple of visits I have noticed the addition of a couple of vinaigrette-marinated button mushrooms that are not traditionally part of a carpaccio of beef. They tasted fine, but I found them kind of unnecessary. As usual, this dish was simply fabulous, with the deep flavor of the cured beef marrying perfectly with the simple marinade and the strongly flavored slivers of cheese. Without a doubt the best carpaccio I have ever had, and highly recommended as a first course on your next visit.
The second (pasta) courses at La Famiglia run the gamut, from Pappardelle ai Porcini, a simple dish of pappardelle pasta sauced with a light fresh Roma tomato sauce flavored with Porcini mushroom, to Taglierini con Carciofi e Gamberetti, homemade pasta with artichokes, baby shrimp, cherry tomatoes, and Parmigiano Reggiano. There is always a chef’s special pasta dish, and this night I noticed an on-menu dish called Penne alla Famaglia, which I had not seen before. My waiter explained that this had been one of their most popular specials and that so many regulars asked for it that they finally just added it to the regular menu. It should be noted that like any real Italian joint, La Famiglia prides itself on being able to whip up virtually any traditional Italian dish you can think of. In the past I have asked for, and received, excellent representations of Fettuccini Putanesca, Spaghetti Bolognese, and others, made from scratch by request.
This night I chose the Penne alla Famaglia, a deliciously basic course of perfectly al dente penne with Prosciutto, sweet onion, and Parmigiano Reggiano. I am beginning to realize that less can be more with pasta dishes. In my own kitchen, my idea of a sauce was always copious amounts of garlic, onion, basil, oregano, and Roma tomatoes, along with lots of pepper and the occasional variation on the theme that made it Putanesca (olives, capers, anchovies) or Bolognese (sautéed ground veal.) My re-education started with an excellent article about a little-used traditional Italian cured pork jowl called Guanciale, used in a regional Italian dish called Bucatini all’Amatriciana. I made the recipe as recommended after discovering that my wonderful local meat market (Chop in the Citymarket coop) made their own Gianciale! What resulted was an incredibly full-flavored and decidedly Italian course that had no garlic at all, no oregano, and only a bit of thinly sliced (not diced) red onion. You can see what I’m getting at. The flavors of the Pecorino Romano cheese and the Gianciale were front and center in a way that would not have happened had I used my regular long list of ingredients, and the same was true of the Penne alla Famaglia, which featured the unmasked taste of the caramelized sweet onion married with the cheese and Prosciutto flavors. Again, no garlic, basil, oregano, or even tomato, just incredible flavor depth and focus. An amazing dish.
For my Secondi, or main course, I ordered another new addition to the menu since my last visit, the simply named Vitello con Prosciutto. I should have noticed that the veal was not called “medallions” which is the traditional pounded veal shoulder rounds that are the basis of nearly all of La Famiglia's veal preparations. No, these were incredibly fork-tender thick chunks of veal tenderloin, wrapped in Prosciutto slices so thin as to ne nearly invisible, pan seared medium and serve with a light-as-air cream sauce delicately flavored with sliced Porcini mushrooms. This was positively sublime and easily one of the top ten or fifteen entrees I have ever had the good fortune to sample, so much so that I took over 20 minutes to eat it, carving off tiny pieces to make it last.
Another comment on the wine service. Finishing my second glass of Orvieto with the Penne alla Famaglia, I asked the waiter to pick me out a glass of good Italian wine off the by-the-glass list. I explicitly told him that this would be fine and under no circumstances did I wish him to open another expensive bottle on my account. He grinned and said, “Sir, that will not be necessary,” and returned moments later with a big glass in one hand and a half-full bottle of Brunello in the other, just to prove that he had not opened a new one.
“What’s this?” I said.
“Truly, sir, we opened this for a regular customer who was dining alone earlier tonight, and he had only one glass. If you allow, I will charge you the price of the most expensive red wine we have by the glass, which is $16.”
So I had two glasses of Brunello with my veal tenderloin. Stealing a glance at the wine list on my way out later on I saw that this was a $260 bottle of 1995 vintage Brunello.
Passing on the dessert cart, I mollified the frowning waiter by ordering a double espresso, which seemed to put me back in his good graces. After that, I bid my hosts goodnight and walked all the way back to my center city hotel, confident once again that La Famiglia is the best Italian restaurant in the country.
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La Famiglia Ristorante is located at 8 South Front Street in Old City Philadelphia. Reservations can be had by calling 215.922.2803.
