RESTAURANT REVIEW : Da’ Pasquale: Italian Food to Remember

We peeked inside Da’ Pasquale, took deep breaths, then squeezed through the packed dining room to the reservation counter. It was a Wednesday night and this small Beverly Hills bistro was doing a business that any restaurant would envy.

People sat elbow-to-elbow at little tables. Waiters and waitresses shimmied through the tight maze with pizzas, pastas, wine, bread. At least three efficient, lovely young women were working very hard in the visible kitchen. There were frying pans sizzling on every burner. A lot of Italian was being spoken.

We were on time for our reservation, but there was a wait. My friend and I flattened ourselves against a small space of wall near the kitchen and minded our toes as waiters passed to and fro. A woman, perhaps the owner’s wife, came out of the back with a beautiful black-haired baby, and many of the waiters, no matter how busy, paused to kiss the child. Meanwhile, we tried not to take it personally that several people who came in after us were greeted warmly and familiarly by the staff--and then seated before we were.

In my admittedly jaded first impression, I assessed Da’ Pasquale as yet another version of the ubiquitous trattoria/bistro/ ristorante / cucina sort of places which all seem to share the same menu--pizza, pasta, tiramisu --and all too often exhibit more of a flair for hipness than cooking.

But I soon had reason to change my mind.

The smells alone, wafting over from all those frying pans, kept us pinned to the wall, willing to wait at least a few more minutes. And, over the course of my visits there, I had a growing sense of affection about the place; despite the crowded room, it was very relaxed and casual and classy. It reminded me of cafes in Southern Europe. Some customers wore sweats, some wore silks. The hard-working cooks, when they had a moment to rest, sat on the stairs.

One night a boisterous bachelor party of handsome Italian men was taking place at a large table. Amid much merriment, it seemed that the guests tried to mix up some pancake batter on the prospective bridegroom’s head. For a moment, the restaurant as a whole paused as all craned to see the poor bespattered victim, and then life resumed its previous tempo.

Once we were seated, we too were able to relax and enjoy, and thus fell under the spell which drew so many people out to dinner here on a weeknight. The service was prompt, good-natured and professional and the food ranged from very good to sublime.

There’s nothing new or original about the menu: It’s very similar to the Angeli menus (the owner, Pasquale Morra, was Angeli Caffe’s original pizza chef). There are daily pasta, risotto and fish specials, and very thin-crusted pizzas.

I deeply approved of the appetizers I tried, especially a roasted Japanese eggplant filled with olives, tomato and capers; intense in flavor, interesting in texture, it did precisely what appetizers should do--take the edge off voraciousness and fill one with anticipation for the food to come. The same results were obtained from a very different appetizer: fried artichokes in a lively red sauce with melted mozzarella. A pasta-and-potato soup had a rich broth with a deep hint of pancetta. Salads were very fresh and dressed in good olive oil.

A pizza with prosciutto and mushrooms was perhaps the least interesting item we tried; there was too much tomato sauce and too little prosciutto. But the pastas were knockouts, especially the simple aglia olio , spaghetti with olive oil, garlic, parsley and red peppers. The first bites were relatively bland, but the pepper and oil gained in strength so that each successive bite was more flavorful and compelling. Finally, came the hottest, best bite of all: the last spoonful of pepper and oil in the bottom of the bowl.

My favorite dish was a fish-of-the-day special: filet of sole with lemon and garlic, sauteed escarole and baby carrots. The waiter suggested it. “The sole,” he said, “it’s just so perfect.” And perfect it was. The fish was fluffy and sweet, absolutely the best-cooked sole I’ve ever had. The escarole was garlicky and every so slightly bitter.

Now I understood why so many people greeted the staff with such warmth and fondness: It’s a natural response one had toward people who prepare and deliver food as good as this.

* Da’ Pasquale, 9749 Little Santa Monica Blvd., Beverly Hills, (213) 859-3884. Lunch Monday-Friday, dinner Monday-Saturday. American Express, MasterCard and Visa. Dinner for two, food only, $28-$55.