Volterra has some enticing delights and room to improve

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Friday, July 15, 2005

Volterra has some enticing delights and room to improve

By REBEKAH DENN
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

When the moon hits the sky like a big pizza pie ... go elsewhere.

RESTAURANT REVIEW

VOLTERRA

PHONE: 206-789-5100
ADDRESS: 5411 Ballard Ave. N.W.
WEB SITE: www.volterrarestaurant.com
PRICES: Brunch $6.95-$10.95; dinner appetizers $7-$11, dinner entrees $13-$22.
HOURS: Dinner 5 p.m.-midnight Monday-Thursday, 5 p.m.-1 a.m. Friday, 4 p.m.-9 p.m. Sunday; weekend brunch 9 a.m.-2 p.m.; bar open all day weekends
BAR: Full bar, array of specialty cocktails, nice wine list specializing in Tuscan wines
SMOKING: Smoking permitted on patio
RESERVATIONS: Highly recommended
PAYMENT: Major credit cards, local checks
SOUND: Was quite difficult; chef Don Curtiss said recent soundproofing should help, with more on the way
ACCESS: No barriers
PARKING: Free and metered street parking, but it can take some circling
KID-FRIENDLY: Children's menu available. We thought the place more appropriate for older children, but Curtiss says Sundays and Mondays are popular family nights.
BEST BETS: Seafood baked in parchment ($22); Orecchiette in lamb ragu ($13); boar tenderloin with Gorgonzola sauce ($19); tomato, olive and cucumber salad ($8); brunch chestnut pancakes ($7.95); panforte dessert with glass of vin santo ($10)
RATINGS:
Food: ** 1/2
Service: ** 1/2
Ambience: ** 1/2

Ratings guide (full explanation)
**** extraordinary
*** excellent
** good
* fair

But when a couple in love wants to savor a relaxed night out? ("That's Volterra," sings the chorus) Or bring friends to clink glasses for a get-together? ("That's Volterra.")

The fledgling "contemporary Italian" restaurant in Ballard has some rare and welcome qualities, from chef Don Curtiss' comfortable verve with ingredients to the servers who don't harass you with constant up-sells. There's no pizza to be found, and, though you could call it a red-sauce place, that excellent sauce is likely to be found with simmered lamb or shards of roasted duck. Repeating signatures, such as wild mushrooms and chestnuts, lace the menu.

While it's not precisely love, we've looked forward to every meal we have had there, and expect to line up for many more. And to say there's room for improvement isn't a slam, just anticipation of what a place it would be if every dish reached the heights of the best.

In a beet ravioli special ($16), for instance, fresh pasta was filled with an earthy-sweet puree of beet and Parmesan cheese; bright maroon set off by the green pesto sauce whose flavors matched it with summery intensity. We've become inured to restaurants who would advertise the same sort of dish and deliver cheese-filled packets in red-hued, flavorless packaging: Volterra's version is a reminder that we don't have to settle for less.

Other winners included the seafood in parchment paper ($22), scallops and clams and the like, plus a rich chunk of Yukon salmon, all infused with the flavors of white wine and garlic and herbs in every perfectly cooked bite.

And there's more. A hot-weather starter of tomato-cucumber-olive salad ($8) was a delicate tangle of shavings and thin slices, with onions that accented instead of bit, and heirloom red and green tomatoes with enough flavor to make doubters say "I guess there really is a difference." The orecchiette with lamb ragu ($13) had the simple, mellifluous flavors we associate with the best Italian home cooking, as did the homemade wide noodles with duck sauce ($16) -- though the noodles in the latter, perfect on our first order, were stuck to themselves and clumped on a later visit. "Not enough water in the pot," sighed the friend from Trieste, who initially had bopped in with high hopes, ordering a Campari at the steel-topped bar. A small arugula salad was lovely and sharply flavored, though it seemed a bit dear at $7, even given the parings of Parmigiano Reggiano.

A big hunk of Delmonico steak ($24) came significantly more rare than ordered, while pork scaloppine seemed dull and entirely divorced in flavors from its overly sharp, briny artichoke and caper sauce. That was a surprise, because other plates came together as beautifully coherent compositions, such as the entirely non-gamey boar, topped with Gorgonzola sauce, served with a nutmeggy potato gratin and a ribbonlike side of fennel and pea vines.


		Niki Desautels / P-I
	Volterra, long the home of Burk's Cajun-Creole joint, has had a serious interior makeover.

Chef-owner Curtiss is well-known for his well-received turns at several Seattle restaurants, including Al Boccalino in its glory days, and as opening chef of Andaluca. He runs the place with wife Michelle Quisenberry, who handles the front of the house. And it's packed, from front to back, between good early word-of-mouth and more recent published reviews. In fairness, our best meal there was the one that came before the biggest crush, and we assume some off-balance dishes came from temporary overcrowding. (Curtis has hired two new kitchen workers to handle the overload.)

The restaurant, long the home of Burk's Cajun-Creole joint, has had a serious makeover, with deep red walls and alabaster lamps designed by Quisenberry and carved in the Italian town of Volterra itself. It has a nice feel, with big, lovely black-and-white framed photos of the town on the wall, taken at Curtiss and Quisenberry's wedding there (Now that's amore!). There's natural illumination from a ceiling skylight and breeze from a row of open windows. While the live sound echoing from the tile floor and hard ceiling was a significant strain on the ears when we were there; Curtiss said he's recently finished the first part of a two-part soundproofing plan.

Even on busy nights, the staff managed not to appear stretched, always appearing a moment before we would have thought of asking for them, but never hovering when they weren't wanted.

Desserts, oddly, were either wonderful (an adult semifreddo with Kahlua and amaretto; creamy chestnut panna cotta; dense, chewy, imported panforte) or completely forgettable (lemon tart with a cementlike crust, attractive but tasteless chocolate cake), with zero middle ground.

In contrast to the packed nights, a Saturday morning brunch was nearly empty. Not everything sang -- juices didn't taste as fresh as advertised, and the ingredients of a proscuitto-mozarrella frittatta added up to a salt overdose -- but others wowed us. While mediocre hash-slinging grills around town boasted lines out the door, we sat in a room of stately emptiness to savor dark, firm, intensely flavored chestnut-buckwheat pancakes, topped with sauteed apples and maple syrup that shouted "the real thing."

More headlines and info from Ballard/Broadview/Blue Ridge.