Sfoglia

"Can you find us a place to eat by the Met?"

Dad sent me this short and sweet e-mail a week before our Pipes and Drums concert last year. I quickly went to New York Magazine, clicked on Upper East Side and went through their critics' picks. If this method failed me, I was going to post an inquiry to Chowhound because I really had no idea where to eat on the Upper Least Side. (Don't mean to offend, but I lived there and it is my least favorite neighborhood, as far as dining goes, in New York.)

"Like a trip to a foreign land" and "only 10 tables" jumped out at me on the Sfoglia post.

"There's this place...Sfoglia? Check it out, Dad. Sounds super cute." I replied. "And they have one in Nantucket."

"They're booked," he wrote back a few moments later. And thus ended my pursuit of Sfoglia. Rats. Dad found us a table at Firenze (unbeknownst to me) instead and we ended up having an extraordinary meal.

Nearly six months later, Sfoglia came up again as was one of Fashionista's three suggestions for FTDC. I was the first responder and replied with enthusiasm, "I've been DYING to try this place." I need to come up with a new term to accentuate eagerness. Why do we use "dying" anyway? Shouldn't we be "living" to try something? I'm changing the phrase. Who's with me?

The time of our Sfoglia dinner was right around when LoveLight started to dim on us FTDC-ers. Because of his work schedule, it became increasingly difficult for him to join us. When he told me he couldn't come, I quickly called on CalGal for backup. It is in our bylaws that if you can't make dinner club, you need to send a replacement, but I took it upon myself to find said replacement since LoveLight was so busy. CalGal and I had been trying to get together for dinner anyway so it worked out perfectly. Smart friends figure out how to kill two birds with one stone. Rather than worry about picking another day that worked with our crammed schedules, I told her to get her butt to Sfoglia that night.

The weather was a disaster. I showed up drenched like I'd taken a ride on Niagara Falls' "Maid of the Mist" boat tours. I'm the worst weather gauger ever. I treat weather reports with the same sense of denial I treat my bills -- the less I know about them the better. Unless it's raining when I walk out the door, I seldom carry an umbrella. Call it my unwillingness to second guess the power of positive thinking. Or call it stupid. I committed to walking across town to Sfoglia and of course, on cue, the heaviest rain fell as I reached Central Park's median. I was wet toast.

We walked into Sfoglia, and as I looked around, I wondered if we were in the right place. This fairly large dining room with fancy chandeliers and white ceiling-to-floor curtains did not feel anything like what I imagined from New York Magazine's description. I was hoping to walk in and be transported to a small Italian farmhouse with rickety chairs and country decor, but I felt nothing. To make matters worse, the hostess escorted us to a table in a back room by the kitchen. We passed through the main dining room and I kept thinking, "Wait, wait, wait! Where are we going?!"

We walked down a couple of steps and into this even less desirable room. Behind our table, separating the kitchen doors from the diners, was this big half-empty bookshelf. It was awkward and I felt like saying, "Nobody puts Mona and her friends in the corner."

The table size was more than ample for four people. You probably could have fit six to eight comfortably. We could spread out and fill up the space with our plates and drinks.

As usual, TheDude picked our wine and we ordered the antipasta della casa to share for an appetizer. For $20 there wasn't much to it. We got a couple pieces of toast with chicken liver pate, pork belly and some vegetables with goat cheese. It was nothing earth-shattering. We could have skipped this and just eaten the fresh, right-out-of-the-oven, bread. Sfoglia's bread was the best thing about the place.


FTDC conversation revolved around the typical: latest in loves, dates, work, dreams and romance. I contributed something about love, Fashionista contributed something about dates, CalGal introduced TheDude to her and her hubby's baby, St. Germain, and TheDude wowed us all.

"So... I'm ready to propose to N-. I'm looking for rings and I've never been so excited about anything in my life."

If I had someone to kick under the table, I would have kicked him out of shock. TheDude had only been dating N- for about six months and I could not hide my surprise.

"Whoa, WHAAT!?"

"Wow! That's awesome. Congratulations!" Fashionista held it together and said what I should have said. Instead, the words, "Are you sure? I mean, it's so fast!" came out of my mouth. Meanwhile, I needed a brown bag because I was hyperventilating.

"I'm sorry, I will be happy for you. I just worry that you're rushing into this."

"Don't worry, Mona. Thank you. It's all good."

Right.

After chugging my wine glass and shoving my face with more bread, I calmed down. I later texted TheDude, "Congrats, man, and I'm sorry for spazzing." I'm hyper-emotional and not good at hiding my true feelings about anything. My friends know this and I hope most of them like me better for it. I think TheDude could appreciate where I was coming from and I hope he doesn't hate me for my mom-ish reaction.

We shared some congratulatory toasts and it was on to the main meal. Fashionista tried the gnocchi with mushroom and chocolate shavings. Yes, that's right, chocolate shavings. This dish was entirely too thick and heavy. Gnocchi is rich enough on its own, but add this thick goopy sauce and it was almost inedible. I grabbed a forkful from Fashionista and had to wipe away the sauce so I could taste the gnocchi, which by itself was excellent.


CalGal ordered the Sfoglia chicken al mattone (under a brick). It was juicy and fell right off the bone. The crisp, buttery skin smothered in herbs was the highlight and as CalGal was in close proximity to me (and she eats like a titmouse), I kept stealing bites from her.


I tried the papardelle alla bolognese. The pasta was overcooked, but the chunky meat sauce made up for it. It was a little salty and light on the tomato base, but I still managed to lick my plate clean. I've become a big fan of papardelle lately. Fettucine just doesn't cut it anymore. Give me the thick ribbon noodles.


In a bold move by TheDude, he ordered the seafood risotto. It came out looking like a saffron surprise. I don't get what the draw is with risotto so I can't objectively judge Sfoglia's. I feel you may as well order oatmeal. I would like risotto if it wasn't so soupy, but maybe I'm missing the point. The risottos I enjoy are the drier, less runny risottos, but TheDude appeared to like Sfoglia's, and despite grumblings of "Oh man, I'm full" and "Gosh, so stuffed," he managed to put it all down.

Our server asked if we wanted any dessert and we all looked at each other and hesitated. We always try to order dessert at FTDC, but we just inhaled a lot of rich food. When she brought us the menus, nothing seemed to perk our tastebuds, until the words "bread pudding" came out of her mouth.

"Um, what?"

"Yes. Tonight's dessert special is bread pudding."

Bread pudding (and this should be no surprise because I consume more bread than the ovens at Poilane) is one of my favorite desserts and I cannot pass it up. I had a great one at Riposo 72 and was ready to check this one out as well.


Just look at this beauty. Our meal got progressively better from start to finish. The appetizer was eh, dinner was good, but Sfoglia's dessert was tremendous. I would go back, sit at the bar with a glass of Port and order the bread pudding, only after I'd called to confirm they were serving it that night. If you want to go to Sfoglia, do yourself a favor -- call and ask if they have the bread pudding and make sure to request a table in the front room. If neither are available, consider your Plan B.

Apart from my disappointment in its lacking a rural feel, dinner was good enough that I'd recommend any Upper Easter to dine at Sfoglia. If you're only in the city, however, for a few nights, it wouldn't be on my list of best casual Italian spots. Malatesta, Morandi and Gradisca still hold their special spots in my stomach.

1402 Lexington Ave., at 92nd St.
212-831-1402