Via Ventuno

Photo: Martha Williams

Walking in to a Jerry Kleiner restaurant, there’s no doubt you’re in, well, a Jerry Kleiner restaurant. The massive square footage, the oversized chandeliers, the jewel-toned velvet chairs, wrought-iron accents, and red, plenty of red, everywhere you look. Kleiner’s latest, Via Ventuno, is no exception. Once Room 21—which was met with tepid reviews and, after the opening buzz died down, empty tables—the place has been Italianized, Kleiner-style. Photos and menus from his travels to Italy fight for attention on the crimson walls, glass jars filled with Italian candy are stashed in towering bookcases atop artfully stacked cookbooks, and a well-intentioned staffer in a chef’s coat stands at attention behind a meticulous antipasti table, flanked by a wagon wheel–sized round of Parmesan and perfectly askew loaves of bread on an overhead rack. Clearly it’s meant to be charming, but it’s all a bit much, too scripted and too choreographed to appear authentic—or even just homey and inviting—to anyone with more than Maggiano’s as a frame of reference for trattorias. With no one touching those books, grabbing the candy or reaching for a loaf of that bread, they become props that stand in the way of any soul coming through.

Not that chef Jim Kilberg isn’t trying. Having cooked at Coco Pazzo, Bice and Gioco, the guy knows his Italian crowd-pleasers and does a remarkable job sourcing ingredients. Smoky cured pork shoulder, a.k.a. speck; spicy pork neck capocollo; and coarse fennel-flecked finocchiona are standouts of the salumi selection, brought in from New York, Italy and Seattle. Kilberg also tracked down a viscous, sweet-and-tangy saba, grape-must reduction that’s a delicious counterpart for peppery arugula leaves and crispy veal milanese, the latter of which, by nature, can be a little one-note. But among his best scores is pastry chef Gerardo Villagomez, whose creamy fior di latte gelato proves a perfect pair for a jammy fig tart sporting a flaky, buttery crust.

What the chef doesn’t source are pastas—all but the rigatoni are made in-house. Tortelloni skins are so delicate you can see through to the verdant spinach inside, but that filling is a little flat. And while the sage-perfumed butter sauce gets the mouth watering on scent alone, it needs more time in the pan to develop the caramelly flavors that make sage-brown butter a classic. Ditto for sea bass, which could have used a hotter pan to properly crisp up the skin; strong sides of bitter rapini and anchovy-spiked sauce are foiled by the mushy fish skin.

Minor quibbles aside, Kilberg and his kitchen crew do a fine job—better than average, in fact—at feeding people well for a fair price. It’s just too bad they have to compete with over-the-top decor and a space that will never be thought of as cozy, humble or soulful. The mid-May opening of the beautifully landscaped patio could go a long way toward providing an atmosphere more in line with the food—that is, if Kleiner doesn’t erect a bocce court and hire Sophia Loren look-alikes to get the ball rolling.

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