San Vivaldo Trattoria Restaurant In Chef Alfie We Trust
Terms like "destinaton dining" and "authentic Italian" take on new meaning at San Vivaldo Trattoria, which is tucked away in the middle of West Warwick with Tuscan-born culinary mastermind Chef Alfiero Bigazzi at the helm."Don't be difficult, relax and drink lots of wine!" trumpets the restaurant's Web site. Chef Alfiero Bigazzi has built quite the "in-the-know"fan base here over the past 8 years.
By the early 1970s, Bigazzi was sharpening his skills in Florence and Genoa. Following the death of his father, he eventually found his way to New England, garnering acclaim as a personal chef to high-rollers ("whales") at Foxwoods.
Bigazzi ultimately purchased an affordable and accessible spot, a tiny red house on Providence Street in West Warwick, less than one mile from the base of Bald Hill Road. “Too many places in Providence, and too expensive by the water,” he explains.
The interior of the red house is tiny at best (in restaurant-speak, we’re talking six at the bar, along with five four-tops and one six-top). A bay window is lined with bottles (Bigazzi boasts more than 600 wines, ranging from $18 to $750), and Italian soccer jerseys on wire hangers adorn the walls.
The Web site declares that “this is a one-man operation, so please order quickly.” He ain’t kidding. The busy weekends usually require a bartender/server helping him out, but on Sundays Bigazzi rolls solo, ably serving as host, waiter, and chef.
“I feel bad because everyone comes at once on Friday and Saturday, and I can’t seat everybody, so if you don’t have a reservation, don’t bother showing up,” he informed us during a quiet Sunday night visit. Then came the inquiry: “So whaddya wanna eat this evening, gentlemen?”
“Um, well, we saw on your Web site that you have — ” I sputtered, and received an aspetta, or “that’s enough out of you,” in Italian. There is no printed menu on the premises, because Bigazzi will recite whatever is fresh that day, the golden rule in Italian cooking.
We placed our gastronomical trust in the chef, a wise decision from start to finish. Fifteen minutes later, two small plates arrived as Bigazzi described the visually alluring offerings: a small mound of mesclun greens dressed with homemade aged balsamic, a slice of bruschetta topped with chick peas and his own smoked mozzarella, and a cold stuffed tomato with couscous topped with a rectangular slab of raw tuna.
Words cannot describe the color scheme and flavors bursting off this plate. My buddy Tom summed up the sense of discovery succinctly: “I can’t believe I’m eating this — in West Warwick.”
Tom’s filet mignon was accompanied by risotto and roasted fingerling potatoes, accompanied by a small helping of marinated eggplant. The steak knife wasn’t needed, a situation akin to mom’s fork-tender pot roast, and it had a delicious, flavorful char (a coffee rub, perhaps?), which triggered another highly entertaining Alfie discourse about his dry-aged filets.
The accompanying starches were perfectly cooked and seasoned, outdone only by the tender, balsamic-infused eggplant salad of sorts. Phenomenal. We finally addressed the tortellini Bolognese, then simultaneously put down our forks, and paused with eyes wide open; not often will a bowl of pasta leave you speechless. Bigazzi beamed with a prideful smile when we acknowledged the fresh-grated nutmeg in this simple, yet masterful presentation.
I was initially disappointed to learn that the coniglio in umido (rabbit braised with olives, served atop polenta) was unavailable, but all was forgotten when my spaghetti allo seoglio arrived with a boatload of cuttlefish, calamari (tentacles intact — hallelujah!), and diced clams, accented by a distinctly clean and fruity olive oil. All three plates were wiped clean.
It was a bit late for Bigazzi’s signature tableside flambé desserts, and he instead headed back to prep his tortino di risotto al forno, a rice cake sautéed in rum and topped with dried fruits. Each bite revealed layers of crisp, dense, and chewy textures like a warm oatmeal cookie.
Chef Alfie then poured a round of Chianti and delivered a plate of that smoked mozzarella with thin, fresh-baked foccacia crisps to officially end the evening. He broke down the math as he delivered our tab, $50 for all three entrees. What? The appetizer plates were $8 apiece and our dessert under $10. To say we were elated to have stumbled upon this place is an incalculable understatement.
San Vivaldo newbies may find Bigazzi initially abrasive (just remember: futbol and Fiats), but nothing could be further from the truth. While recently recommending San Vivaldo to a friend, an eavesdropper chimed in, “escargot, veal scallopini and crepes Suzette for dessert; perfect every time.” As if we needed three more reasons to revisit Chef Alfie.
Chris Conti/Providence Phoenix, July 4, 2008
The Heart of the Matter
In his spotless kitchen in an old house in West Warwick, chef Alfiero Bigazzi puts his heart and soul into crafting classic northern Italian home cooking. By Paula M. Bodah/RI Monthly Magazine, April 2004I'm going to tell you about Trattoria San Vivaldo, but before I do, I want you to promise you'll use the information responsibly.First, don't all go at once. It's a tiny place - just eight tables in a small, homey dining room - so please, call ahead to make sure there's room for you.
Second, don't expect to eat and run. The chef and owner, Alfiero Bigazzi, is pretty much a one-man show. He has a helper in the kitchen, and sometimes someone is on hand to serve drinks and bring the food. But Bigazzi is very much both the front and back of his house. You don't want to rush him any more than you want to rush the host of a dinner party.
Third, heed the menu's "Special Advice from the Host: Don't be difficult, relax, and drink lots of wine!"
The first time I ate here I was charmed - and a little frightened. Alan, fondly remembering his mother's home cooking, asked Bigazzi if he made bracciole. "Bracciole!" he huffed. "An Italian - American invention!"
When he described a veal special, Alan asked if he buys his veal on Federal Hill. "Never!" he exclaimed. "Only Boston for the veal!"
Okay.
But he softened when he saw how we cleaned our appetizer plates: a salad of baby greens with tiny marinated mussels, squid, and cuttlefish dressed in vinaigrette, and a stuffed roasted green pepper matched up with bright wedges of cantaloupe and thin slices of prosciutto. He brightened some more when Ii polished off my pork tenderloin stuffed with rabe and cheddar and Alan made quick work of his veal tenderloin and fresh vegetables in a light tomato sauce over pasta.
Bigazzi loves people who love his cooking. By dessert, he was offering us complimentary glasses of his plummy homemade dessert wine.
I started telling friends about the place. The Alessandros loved it so much they asked me to stop telling everybody about it, fearful there'd be no room for them (sorry, Patty and Vince). Nancy and John Bourque, on the other hand, thought I should tell the world. "Then come with us while we do," we said.
Bigazzi welcomed us like old friends and suggested a round of kir - creme de cassis, white wine, and a twist of lemon - to start. While we sipped, he headed for the kitchen. Once you've eaten at his restaurant a couple of times, Bigazzi likes to fix you something a little special, and that's what he does tonight, returning with four plates bearing a sampling of tastes. There are thin slices of pink prosciutto, a round of mozzarella sitting atop a vivid slice of tomato and whole basil leaves; a stuffed tomato, fresh and juicy and plump with savory bread stuffing; a mound of lightly dressed mesclun greens; a super-thick slice of foccacia, riddled with air holes and crusted with asiago cheese. It's a good way to whet the appetite with it's pretty colors and variety of flavors and textures.
For a second course, Bigazzi divides one of his entrees among the four of us, tortellini in the best bolognese sauce I've ever had - a soft, almost creamy mix of ground veal, pork, and beef and just enough tomato to pull it all together and make it cling to the pasta without drowning it.
Bigazzi has put together a sizable menu of classic northern Italian dishes. But he's also happy to make whatever you're in the mood for as long as he has the ingredients. He describes his specials as though he's inspired by the moment and your presence. "I have some nice veal tonight," he might say. "If you like I'll make up a sauce with some fresh herbs, a little white wine....."
That's what John wants, and he gets thin medallions of veal sauteed with fresh herbs, fresh tomato, and a splash of cream, along with a mix of vegetables including red cabbage, carrots, and cubes of winter squash. I choose a homey stew that mixes pork cooked to falling-apart softness with the distinctive bitterness of rabe. For Alan's linguini calamari, Bigazzi sautes squid rings and small bits of tentacles in a garlicky olive oil sauce with fresh tomatoes and olives. Be he doesn't stop there; he also includes two squid tubes overflowing with a bread stuffing loaded with minced squid.
Bigazzi is his own pastry chef, too. Tonight he's making banana-blueberry tarts, so we get two to share. The chef brings them with a small look of disappointment on his face. "I used a little too much lemon juice." he says. "I'm afraid the crust isn't crisp enough." He's right, the crust is a little doughy in the center, but it's crisp around the edges and filled with blueberries and bananas. We scrape the plates, doughy center and all.
Bigazzi isn't trying to reinvent Italian cuisine here. He's cooking from the heart, using the best ingredients he can find to create flavor-filled, hearty dishes inspired by his Tuscan homeland. If you want a maitre d' and a squadron of tuxedoed staff buzzing about, go elsewhere. But if you want good, honest cooking in a place that makes you feel like home, go see Alfiero Bigazzi. Just don't be difficult.
Make a special trip.
Open for dinner, Wednesday through Saturday, from 5 pm to 9:30 pm
Prices for two range from $65 to $85. Reservations accepted. All major credit cards accepted. Non-smoking throughout.
