Genoa
2832 SE Belmont, 238-1464
For over a quarter-century, Genoa has had a prix fixe
and an idée fixe. The former may have climbed
from $7 to $60, but the latter has remained remarkably consistent:
to serve northern Italian food of refinement and to present
it with finesse, insuring its authenticity by performing serious
research into native cooking traditions and their use of exigent
ingredients. If this sounds a little cold and calculating,
well, let's say Genoa is hot and calculating. "Hot"
because its dedicated way with food produces a fervent and
fiery intensity in the restaurant's small kitchen, and "calculating"
in that the agenda demands precision and a sure sense of how
all the aspects of its complex, intricate menus work together.
You need to be on your toes if your goal is to serve seven-course
dinners that take one through a meticulously choreographed
sequence. I suspect much of the pleasure of cooking at Genoa
really begins with the planning, a ritual that takes place
every two weeks. In fact the physical menu notes the name
of the meal's designer. The concerns are for the way flavors,
textures and colors move from one course to the other. To
be sure, there are certain conventions Genoa has always
followed: The meal marches inexorably from a small appetizer
(really a larger version of what the French call "an amusement
for the palate") to a soup, a pasta, a composed salad, to
a main course (the first course from which you may choose,
usually among fish, foul and meat), to dessert (the second
and harder decision, when the abundant tray is set before
you), to a finale of fresh fruit (by this time you don't
do much more than point and click). Those who are making
a night and a half of it know to retire to the secret of
Genoa: a charming and serene back room filled with comfortable
seats, splendid Italian art and a scattering of art books,
the perfect place for coffee and a spot of grappa.
But within the conventional markings of the meal, the restaurant
expresses considerable latitude. While Genoa's original
mission was to introduce Portlanders to a cuisine that had
more to offer than "gravy" (red sauce), its name suggested
a Ligurian emphasis. A number of regions might be represented
over the course of a year, but normally a given menu hews
to a fairly particular area.
Let us take an excursion through a recent menu. It began
with a lightly sautéed disk of eggplant enveloping
fresh mozzarella (for extra delicacy), sweet basil leaves
and prosciutto, rolled and baked until the cheese began
to run and the flavors melded in a cascade. The flavors
were salty and mildly acidic, a perfect opener to get juices
flowing. Next came a deep ruby soup of charred tomatoes,
blended with leeks, bacon, wine and good stock; heartier
than gazpacho, it seemed to signal the transition of summer
to fall, the tomatoes a rich, earthy clarion. Pasta has
always been Genoa's forte; this night, ravioli were laden
with chevre and Gruyère and a sprinkling of heady
sage, lightly sauced with cream. They were delicate and
floppy, and you wanted to hold on to each taste. Cheeses
were beginning to echo across the meal. And with the salad,
the cherry tomatoes kept up their conversation and
mixed with haricots verts, summer chanterelles and shell
beans. It's particularly interesting to have two kinds of
beans in the same dish.
We skipped a filet of beef to try scallops sautéed
with garlic and glazed with white wine and Cognac, which
added a deep aroma to the mild crustaceans. A plate of Muscovy
duck was grilled and set off by an intense sauce of red
wine, capers, sage and anchovy, accompanied by a crunchy
grilled polenta and a heady onion jam. If you were alert,
you could trace the journey of sage throughout the menu
and see how the herb reacted with different ingredients
and to different cooking techniques.
An exquisite berry tart and an ambrosial, homemade chocolate
ice cream completed the meal, but not until we decided on
some unbelievably sweet and fleshy Sharlyne melon that was
a tongue-, palate- and throat-cleanser all in one.
Genoa's dining room has always seemed like a refuge from
a neighborhood that, until its recent moves toward modest
gentrification, was a somewhat incongruous setting for what
has perhaps been Portland's most famous restaurant. There
are some who find the dimly lit room, with its gray-black
walls, its low ceiling, and its windowless and hence closed-in
look a bit too stiff; and there is something oddly formal
about Genoa that induces a reverential hush rather than
exuberance. Some years ago, the servers helped create this
atmosphere by announcing the ingredients with near-lugubrious
intonations. That has changed, and there's a more relaxed
feel now. Meanwhile the beautiful touches remain: a breakfront
displaying dessert wines; a large table at the entrance
holding fruit, wines and an expansive spray of fresh flowers.
Genoa is still a bit somber for my taste, but don't let
that tone mislead you. Genoa provides an intimate, rare
and welcome occasion to sample dishes made with exquisite
care. If you watch people around you, you'll notice how
they take pleasure in tasting each item and musing about
it, combining discernment and sensuality. Such careful attention
on the part of diners is a great compliment to the mission
and the achievement of the restaurant. Genoa has never been
exactly a robust place, but there are few restaurants I
know where people enjoy the food quite so seriously and
deeply.
It is a testament to Genoa that the place has been held
in such esteem, from its beginnings to its silver anniversary
and beyond.
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Willamette Week | originally
published October 13,
1999
|
