By David Minsky
By Jen Mangham
By Bill Wisser
By Laine Doss
By Bill Wisser
By Dana De Greff
By Laine Doss
By Zachary Fagenson
The lack of written menus doesn't mean you get nothing to read. There's a short wine list of Italian grapes that complements the menu appropriately, along with a laminated listing of chef/owner Michael Vito D'Andrea's "13 Commandments" -- his personalized rules of engagement for dining at Macaluso's. That Mr. D'Andrea treats his restaurant very seriously is not surprising. He comes from three generations of Italian-American cooks (including Grandma Lena, whom some dishes are named after, and his mother, whose maiden name is Macaluso), and he opened this risky hideaway restaurant with nothing but a dream and money gleaned from credit cards.
His dedication is refreshing to see, although some diners may quibble with a few of the dictates, such as "No substitutions or changes to the menu"; "No salad dressing served on the side"; and "Allergic to olive oil, garlic, or tomatoes? This is an Italian restaurant and those are our staples."
Everyone should be happy with D'Andrea's devotion to using quality products like DeCecco pastas, Poma Rosa San Marzano canned plum tomatoes, first cold press extra virgin olive oil, and Mediterranean sea salt. There isn't exactly a plethora of specialty items (in fact there are hardly any), but the ingredients used are honest. I guess that's what those three X-Files-ish words printed on the front of Macaluso's business card refer to: "Finally the truth."
You don't have to pay too high a price for the truth (appetizers $7 to $15, main courses $15 to $26), but the little things add up: A couple having dessert and a glass of house wine apiece (chianti flecked with slices of fresh peach), and sharing one bottle of water, will manage to pad their bill by $39 before tax or tip.
Now for the good news, which encompasses most everything else. The dining room, which was expanded in May, is clean-lined and handsome with dark-wood floors, warm burgundy walls, Britto prints in black frames -- nothing new or exciting, but it works. Dim lights, lotsa Sinatra music, and a wide amount of space between the eleven tables contribute to a relaxed, romantic ambiance, while a steady flow of enthusiastic customers adds the sort of energy that makes dining exciting.
Service is superb, the well-trained team constantly in motion and rarely missing a detail. It's unusual to find this level of waitstaff competence on the Beach, which helps explain the aforementioned steady flow of diners, even on sultry summer nights. Another explanation would be the potently flavored Italian food. D'Andrea disarms with straightforward, even humble dishes, elevating them through solid recipes and fresh, caring preparation.
Can't get more modest than a meatball, and those rolled at Macaluso's are large, plump, tender, and tasty, available either dappled in red sauce and fresh basil as a starter, as a salad (yes, you read that right), or with linguine or long fusilli as a main course.
Thin slices of meatball also come atop crisply crusted pizzas but get a little dried-out in the process. The pie doughs, though made with bottled water, seem ordinary, but perk up with fresh, noncanned toppings such as prosciutto, spinach, broccoli rabe, mushrooms, or sausages -- which, like the meatballs, are homemade and manage to squeeze their way into quite a few menu items.
An antipasto plate came with caesar-dressed romaine lettuce covering slices of imported hard salami, cappacola, and prosciutto di San Daniele Negroni; olives, pickled peppers, and two thick wedges of hard provolone rested on top. The basket of chewy, thickly sliced, baked-on-site Italian bread that greets diners with each meal went just right with the cold cuts and cheese. So did triangles of garlic toast that accompanied "Sinatra's shrimp" -- four meaty, lightly fried prawns dusted with piquant garlic coating and served with hot pepper-imbued olive oil.
Macaluso's menu is dominated by pasta dishes, all prepared consistently and impeccably al dente, whether it be linguine with fresh, saline littleneck clams (and plenty of garlic), or fusilli with spinach and white beans (and plenty of garlic). Big bowls get passed from the glistening open kitchen to D'Andrea's work station in the dining room, where he adds finishing touches, places plates on the counter, and watches as waitstaff whisk them away to the tables, leaving behind locomotive-like trails of steam that quickly dissipate in air.