SIRIO – Reviewed in Las Vegas Weekly

Sirio at Aria plays it safe to please the masses—with a few surprises

John Curtas

Wed, Jun 16, 2010 (12:31 p.m.)

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Cannolis with pistachio foam from Sirio.

Photo: Leila Navidi

Sirio Maccioni is a living legend. one of a kind. The last of the great ones. At one time he represented the ne plus ultra of restaurateurs in New York, which pretty much means he was the standard bearer for gourmet in America. Between its opening in 1974 through the mid-’90s, his restaurant, Le Cirque, was the most famous in the country. Back then, restaurants were the domain of their autocratic owner, and chefs were employees who cooked according to his taste and demands.

Sirio in Aria is a throwback of sorts. There’s no chef’s name on the door, and it’s still run the old-fashioned way: Mario, the oldest son, oversees all three of their Vegas rooms; when he takes a break, one of his brothers, Marco or Mauro, is always around to make sure each hums like a finely tuned engine. (Patriarch Sirio is often in town as well.) The chef they employ at Sirio—Vincenzo Scarmiglia—has proven chops; he ran the kitchen at the Maccioni’s delightful, Tuscan-inspired Circo in the Bellagio for years.

With Sirio, both he and the Maccionis are being asked to do something neither has done before: Feed hordes of middle-brow conventioneers hackneyed Italian standards, at fairly high prices, in a tough economy, in hopes that no one will notice the generic nature of the menu. I noticed. But I also noticed you can eat very well here, if you stick with the clichés this kitchen does best.

Sirio at Aria serves Italian fare for the masses with some special touches if you know where to look.

One cliché to avoid: the pizzas. Ordering one at a Maccioni restaurant is like asking an opera singer to belt out “My Way,” but if you insist, the thin crust tastes like crisp matzo, onto which various toppings are strewn about to no great effect. I don’t know when or why it became fashionable to put potatoes on top of bread, but they show up on the pizza bianca con patate, gorgonzola e speck. There’s nothing wrong with any of the other four offerings—other than they taste like afterthoughts.

Opt for the carpaccio, and you get good, thin, raw beef sullied by white truffle oil. To any lover of real Italian food, white truffle oil is to the real thing what Steak’umm is to prime porterhouse. Unfortunately, it shows up all over town in restaurants that should know better.

Restaurant Guide

Sirio
At Aria, (877) 230-2742. Daily, 11 a.m.-10:30 p.m.
Suggested dishes: Ossobuco, $44; gnocchi with pesto, $19; eggplant parmigiana, $17.
Recently Reviewed
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Something Scarmiglia knows better: Italian meats and cheeses. His antipasto platters are top-shelf, and his selection of all-Italian fromaggi is highlighted by Castelmagno—the rare Piedmontese cow-sheep’s milk cheese. Start your meal with a few nibbles and a slice of superior salumi, then proceed directly to the hot appetizers. There you will find eggplant parmigiana—a cliché to be sure, but one done so well that all is forgiven. Just as tasty: the trio of meatballs—veal, lamb and duck—served with fresh tomato compote.

Aside from the linguine con vongole veraci, rapini e pomodori di pachino (strangely containing broccoli rabe and tomatoes), the pastas are excellent and worth a trip unto themselves—especially the gnocchi with pesto and the richest lasagna you’ve ever tasted.

A lot of restaurants seem to run out of gas with their main courses, but this one gets stronger throughout your meal. Each dish sparkles with cooking care and unique sauces and sides—the ossobuco with saffron risotto is nonpareil, likewise the filet with gorgonzola cheese and polenta and the roast pork with black rice. That nutty, deeply flavored riso nero venere was new to us, and a wonderful counterpoint to the sweet pork. Seafood mains stick with the tried-and-true: sea bass, salmon, swordfish and scallops, but again, Scarmiglia dresses things up with an oregano sauce here (swordfish), a chardonnay veloute there (sea bass) and a port wine sauce everywhere about the scallops.

It’s easy to criticize Sirio for playing it safe, but if you look closely, you see a restaurateur and chef trying to please the masses, while tweaking each dish to give it something special. Purists may blanch, but it’s just the sort of Italian-American restaurant Aria needed.

John Curtas is the food critic for KNPR 88.9-FM and holds court online at eatinglv.com.

SEN OF JAPAN is Simply Sensational

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Hiromi Nakano‘s Sen of Japan has been humming along for years now, so sometimes we take it for granted. Shame on us for forgetting just how spectacular the food is here. So contrite did our staff feel, that recently, they stopped by (twice in one week ) to remind themselves about the subtlety and precision this kitchen is known for.

Before we go any further: Those of you who swear by Sushi Fever and I Love Sushi are hopeless cases, and we at ELV can/will do nothing to dissuade you from the wrong path you have chosen — into the land of gimmicky, sloppy sushi and away from ethereal eats — so please spare us any comments on how good they are.

Japanese food is all about superb ingredients, and the surgical-like, minimalist way a good chef treats them to bring out their best, intrinsic qualities. It is not about screaming orgasms and cream cheese concoctions (although Nakano has some of them on his menu to placate the philistines).  Nakano respects both his oeuvre, his country’s cuisine, his ingredients and his customers in dishing forth some of the most finely-tuned food to be found in town — all at prices that won’t have you reaching for a respirator.

The best way to experience his food is through an omakase dinner (gently priced at either $55 or $85/per) where he and his chefs compose a menu that builds through a ginger-spiced raw seafood salad with mango, to sparkling fresh kumamotos, to sablefish in that cliched miso glaze (that doesn’t taste cliched at all here), to sushi that is as as much about the sweetly-scented perfect rice as it is about the perfect slices of fish lain about them. When they do accents to those fish — be it pickled eggplant or a spicy red wine glaze) — the flavors of that rice and fish are accented just so, never by too much or too little — and every bite seems to be a revelation of the main ingredients — just the way Japanese food is supposed to be. His smoky, intense miso soup is also the best we’ve tasted in our humble burg.

In other words, what gussying up Nakano and his chefs do, they do with restraint and respect for the underpinnings of their cuisine.

Much of this subtlety is lost on Americans. We like our flavors big and bold, just like our movies and our actresses. Most American food is, likewise, about as subtle as a UFC cage match.  But take the time, think about what’s really happening on your plate (and in your mouth), and read this blog, and maybe you’ll begin to get the vibe.

But let’s face it, the only way you can really appreciate a country’s cuisine is to travel there and experience it first hand. So in that regard, most of us, ELV included, are no different than a Russian trying to make sense of American food based upon all the hamburgers and fried chicken he eats in Moscow.

Until we get to Tokyo (which, we hope, is this November), we’re content to cruise down west Desert Inn to Hiro’s place, for the best of this cuisine (at the best price) our town has to offer.

Kanpai!

SEN OF JAPAN

8480 W. Desert Inn #F1

Las Vegas, NV 89117

702.871.7781

SINATRA Desserts – Ole Blue Eyes Would Approve

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We don’t know Kevin Caldwell, and since his name is “Kevin,”  we doubt if we’re going to develop a crush on him for his pastry and dessert talents, as ELV has been known to do.

But we do love his work at Sinatra, and think the desserts are one of many reasons to take a meal here. (The others will be outlined by us in the next issue of Vegas Magazine, so we’ll keep you in suspense for now.)

We are big fans of his cappello (a cute little white chocolate fedora), his panna cottas, and the ciocclato (a Valrhona molten chocolate cake).  In a town full of molten chocolate cakes, his may be the best around.

As for those panna cottas (vanilla and pistachio), as we’ve noted in the past (and as was told to us by an old Italian years ago), a good panna cotta should have the consistency of a woman’s breast — not too firm and not too soft.

And Kevin’s do.

Bravo Kevin!

For making the breast panna cotta in town.

Okay, okay. ELV has milked this area long enough. He’s been acting like a real boob.

So he’ll torpedo the jokes for now bra, because he’s not quite sure how to express this, but he needs to nip these pendulous puns in the bud.

And lift and separate his humor a tit.

Yours two-ly,

ELV