Ciao Baci menu enraptures

We pass Ciao Baci all the time in the evenings when we walk our dogs.

Especially in the spring and summer, we hear musical laughter and the tink of glassware coming from diners seated on the wraparound porch of this glowing Hillcrest bungalow. With its discrete signage and soft, spangled lights draped under its eaves, it has always made us smile, much as a basket of puppies or being proximate to human delight will. While you might be disinclined from engaging with these things, no one with a heart could wish them ill.

My disinclination to engage Ciao Baci sprung from a misconception, an idea that might have been true enough at one time. Despite its Italian name, Ciao Baci has lodged in my mind as a "tapas bar," and my experience is that a tapas bar can be great fun when someone else is paying. I remember long ago escaping one such establishment (gone for years, its name has evaporated) $90 lighter with my appetite intact. I can't say exactly why Ciao Baci existed in my imagination as a place where young professional types went to drink, network and exercise their fancy new expense accounts; I only know it did.

As it turned out, that was what Flaubert would have called an idee recue -- an idea as insipid as it was well-established. In reality, I didn't know what I didn't know about the restaurant; had you asked, I probably would have said it was in the forefront of local mixology culture, that it had a good bar. I would have had to mention the legacy of the building, how it was the site of the former Andre's, where on a Friday night in 1994, venerable chef and owner Andre Simon was shot to death in front of a full house.

I likely would have said nothing about the food, other than we had friends who seemed to enjoy it. It wasn't in our rota, and to be honest, we were scouting. We like to walk to supper, but our neighborhood is blessed with culinary talent. We have Cafe Bossa Nova and Acadia, Pantry Crest and Kemuri. We have pizza and the hearty everydayness of Canon Grill and Leo's Greek Castle. We were not lacking places (I am leaving some out) to pop into after an art show.

Such an attitude is probably not the best to have when charged with reviewing a restaurant, and if I'm telegraphing Ciao Baci's success by mentioning my prejudices, so be it. (This is not a Lord Peter Wimsey mystery.) All I know is I feel differently now, that two trips during the recent climatic unpleasantness have convinced me that Ciao Baci is better than fair, and more than a trendy spot for good-looking people employed in the advertising and pharmaceutical trades to exchange business cards. It's a good place to eat as well.

And a handsome one -- structurally, the interior seems not to have changed too much from when it was Andre's, although perhaps the ceilings weren't so high back then and I'm sure the paint was different. What presents as a typical Hillcrest dwelling from the street contains a medium-size open room with a scattering of four-tops and a few smaller tables tucked against walls and into corners. The lighting is mild, yellow and adequate (but we saw some diners embeaming menus with iPhones). On a busy night, the burble of the crowd seems to rise up like so many Mylar balloons, glinting metallically against the ceiling where they present the option of being noticed. You can hear soft noise, but not the conversation at the next table. Not unless you want to.

Poised on the knife blade that separates humility from elegance, there's a homey quality to the room that locates it squarely in its unpretentious 'hood. The staff is warm and responsive without hovering. There's original art on the wall, but it's not ostentatious, and the prices on the menu aren't either. The seasonally changing menu included a shrimp dish for $27 and, for $24, either a "tea-brined" pork chop or a pan-roasted escolar can be had. More ambitious is the $45 Chef's Tasting, a five-course experience that reportedly changes nightly.

On our first visit, I was feeling especially carnivorous, so I settled on the Angus Strip Loin ($29), which came served on a cake of Parmesan polenta with a pleasantly crunchy and deeply interesting celery seed slaw and drizzled with a very adult (not saccharine) mulled wine barbecue sauce. While it appeared more lean than marbled, it was as tasty as any butter-burnished steakhouse chop, more moist than juicy, with a bouncy texture and a satisfying, layered complexity that resolved nicely on the palate. One of the problems with steak is that some of us get a little bored with the flavor at some point, and continue on mainly from a sense of "clean plate club" duty. Not so here; this beef held my interest, and the complementary dishes were well-chosen for the contrasts they allowed in texture and flavor. While it might not have been the best pure cut of meat I've ever enjoyed, it was genuinely well-imagined and executed, the product of an intelligent kitchen.

Similarly, wife Karen's duck confit pizza ($13) was a canny, well-crafted dish that belied the simplicity of its ingredients -- shiitake mushrooms, shredded duck, Gorgonzola, roasted garlic cream and kale on a crackery crust. Surprisingly, the key to the entree turned out to be kale. While I associate with this very-NPR source of phytonutrients with bitter healthfulness, here it is crispy, earthy and meaty. I still might prefer old-fashioned spinach to kale in a salad, but I'll come back for Ciao Baci's duck pizza.

On a return visit -- a busy Saturday night when everyone seemed grateful for snowmelt -- we resolved to go the tapas route, choosing a couple of items from the "Great Fare to Share" section of the menu. I thought we'd probably add a third and maybe finish off with a dessert, but I was thwarted when served a full pound of delectable mussels in the shell ($14). Seasoned with bacon and served in a silky pepper broth with tomato concasse with a side of ciabatta (from Benton's excellent Arkansas Fresh Bakery), it also proved more subtle than the description might suggest. I expected a kind of bar food, a version of French moules et frites sans frites, although Ciao Baci's Parmesan fries ($5) looked like they'd make a clever companion -- and I got one of my new favorite suppers.

Karen wasn't disappointed with her Old School Tartare ($13), raw chopped beef served with herbs, shallots and a mustard egg-yolk dressing. It's not an option that's often offered, and I can imagine that some folks might be squeamish about the prospect of uncooked beef (not Karen, who still bemoans the exit of the "cannibal burger" from New Orleans' Camellia Grill two decades ago) but it made for a delicate and surprisingly shareableamuse-bouche.

Which was just as well, because although the desserts proffered sounded, well, like high-end restaurant desserts, we couldn't have done one justice.

As for the bar, well, at least one of my preconceptions about Ciao Baci was right -- it is a formidable thing and they know what they're doing. While their drinks menu consists of a lot of overly fussy (to my eye anyway, I consider any cocktail with more than three words in its name or four ingredients in its recipe irretrievably hip) signature drinks (most go for $11), they were able to prepare a very good Sazerac with rye (probably Bulleit) instead of defaulting to bourbon.

Karen tested them by ordering their version of a Hot Toddy ($11) and received a nicely balanced concoction of steaming blended Scotch (Old Parr) and citrus that was genuinely welcome on a wintry evening. They've also got a balanced midsize wine list that skews slightly toward the upscale -- if you're looking for a best buy, I'd suggest the Apaltagua Pinot Noir ($17 for a split), a lively Chilean product with a little more spice than U.S. or French varietals. (It makes an argument for the primacy of terroir; it reminded me more of a grown-up Malbec or Tempranillo than an Oregon or California Pinot.)

There's also a reasonably interesting selection of beer.

As with most restaurants, as much depends on what one orders as what one expects. Karen likes to study menus beforehand, to perform some due diligence before ordering, while I tend to wing it. (Though I have to admit a friend clued me in to the mussels.) I have heard good and bad things about Ciao Baci, but when I think of it, I have heard little to nothing negative about the food since chef Jeff Owens assumed command of the kitchen in 2012.

While I wouldn't suggest changing it, the name Ciao Baci suggests an Italian influence that is only residual, so some might misapprehend it as a pasta and Chianti joint. But the best cure for ignorance is investigation. Ideas come to you all sorts of ways, sometimes unbidden. I'm so happy to have mine amended.

Weekend on 04/02/2015