Taste Of Trastavere In Hamden
March 15, 2007
As seen in the Hartford Courant & online at: CTNow.com
By ELISSA ALTMAN, Special To The Courant

Make no mistake: the restaurant business is hard. Whether you're Sirio Macchioni, presiding over the Le Cirque dynasty in New York, or you're the owner of a trattoria in a Connecticut college town, the story is still, arguably, the same: It comes down to an often bemusing tango of taste and trend, culinary wit and wisdom, the ability to give a sometimes difficult patronage just what they want at prices they, on the one hand, can tolerate, but that are also high enough so that you can make enough of a profit to keep operating.

Heaven knows, it's a tough enough gig to be in without having a car drive through your front window in the middle of the night.

Which is exactly what happened to Mickey Josephs a while ago, at his critically acclaimed Rosemary & Sage, in Old Saybrook. Sure, Mickey re-opened a year or so later to widespread applause, but I do wonder whether the specter of the accident shattered his hope for the space as much as it did the glass surrounding it. But frankly, I don't care. At all.

I couldn't care less, in fact, and not because I don't care about Mr. Josephs and his staff and whatever it was that they went through. (I do.) It's just that when food is as first-rate as it is at Mickey's in Hamden, it says to me that the man has far more than obvious persistence and steadfastness on his side: He has talent, in spades.

I have to be upfront about this: while I, like many food people in Connecticut, had heard about the unfortunate, aforementioned "drive-in" accident, I had never actually eaten at Rosemary & Sage. Furthermore, I was, until fairly recently, a Mickey's virgin; I heard tell over the years about Josephs' stellar Mediterranean dishes (a secret love of mine), great service and packed houses, but I had never experienced them. So I was taken off-guard on a recent evening, when I hauled myself and my companions up to Hamden to try and enjoy a meal that I figured would probably begin with another in a long line of plates of chewy calamari.

I was utterly astounded when a bowl of Mickey's "Firecracker" Point Judith Calamari arrived; on the one hand, they were enormous (and the bigger the squid, the more inedible it generally tends to be) but somehow, hot-knife-through-butter tender. Enveloped in a supple yet crisp cornmeal crust, these calamari - possibly the finest I've ever tasted anywhere - arrived not with the prototypical aioli or marinara, but rather a good dousing of a modernized, piquant puttanesca, redolent of capers, black peppers, onions and just enough hot red cherry peppers to provide a bit of warmth while preparing you for the astonishing meal to come.

It was a pleasure to see that many of the traditional pasta dishes could be had as a half-order, and when I spied the quintessential Roman specialty, Bucatini all'Amatriciana, on the menu, it was all I could do not to squeal with joy. Common in the finest rustic trattorias all over Trastavere, the dish is an inexplicable rarity in the States, and it shouldn't be. Made badly, it's generally good. Made well, it is usually eaten in a weird sort of hushed, pious silence, its divine flavor and bite a perfectly salty, toothsome, al dente and tender marriage. Here, lardons of meaty pancetta replace the traditional (and virtually impossible to find) guanciale and, this being February, fresh tomatoes were swapped for top-notch canned variety. The half order - which could have easily fed two as a main course - was beyond spectacular, and I groaned at the thought of the other dishes getting ready to leave the kitchen.

Everything that we ordered arrived prepared to perfection. A special, spice-rubbed hangar steak - that formerly "throw-away" cut of meat that chefs and butchers generally squirrel away for themselves because it's as succulent and tasty as the finest prime porterhouse - was masterfully cooked to a light pink medium rare, and sliced atop a mouthwatering hash of roasted potatoes, onions, mushrooms and pancetta. I found myself staring lasciviously at the short ribs, which were magnificently plated, drenched in a thick reduction of their braising sauce, and fall-off-the-bone luscious.

Sweet rack of lamb, which was ordered medium actually arrived medium, accompanied by a light, visually stunning tempura of whole asparagus and earthy wild mushroom spaetzle. The pollo grana, a dish that was reputed to have been a favorite in the Rosemary & Sage days, was a cheeky twist on both parmigiana and francese. This velvet-smooth dish swaps out mozzarella for, presumably, grated grana padano, which batters and coats the most supple boneless chicken breasts I've ever had, anywhere, without burning during the saut–ing process or becoming cloyingly cheesy. Drizzled with its own lemon-butter pan sauce, the dish is clearly a house favorite, and it's no wonder.

So, my question is this: Wo exactly is Mickey Josephs? Who is this comeback kid who keeps his very Mediterranean-inflected chops in great shape amidst recognizable favorites, throwing in a preserved lemon here or a furtive pinch of cumin there to make sure your taste buds don't yawn; who forces you, in a sizable space in the middle of busy Hamden, to slow down a little and pay attention to the superlative, star-worthy dishes that arrive on kitschy 1980s-esque, Picasso and Kandinsky-themed chargers, presented by a serving staff that is friendly, calm, smart but not in-your-face; whose level of consistency and talent is on a par with Batali, were he to go more southern and eastern Mediterranean?