Belles Are Ringing

The Campanaro brothers update a Queen Village restaurant relic for 2011.

by Adam Erace

TINY BALLS, BIG FLAVOR: Sidle up to the bar at Village Belle for the signature meatball sliders, but don't forget to check out the housemade pastas, too.

Neal Santos

[ review ]

S cratch, scratch, scratch. If I listen close enough inside Village Belle, I can still hear the scrape of the whisk against the copper bowl. It had to be 15, 16 years ago, back when the theatrical Italian restaurant Frederick's still existed. I was a kid, enchanted by the tuxedoed captain stationed at my table, transforming egg yolks, sugar and Marsala into a glossy zabaglione he'd eventually pour over a martini glass of fresh berries in a cinematic custard cascade.

Don't ask me if Frederick's zabaglione was any good. I don't remember. But I do remember the grandeur of it all: the sweeping river views, the impeccable uniforms, the live piano. I remember thinking this had to be the finest restaurant in the world.

Some time between my growing up and Frederick's eventual closing in 2008, it became apparent that it wasn't even the best restaurant in Philadelphia, but there was no place like it. There are many places like Village Belle, its seasonally driven, sorta-Mediterranean successor, but more often than not, you'll depart the canopied front door remembering the dinner rather than the show.

Joey and Lou Campanaro are the resurrectors of this storied space. Both are chefs, and though their cooking careers have taken them out of the city — Joey owns Manhattan's Little Owl and Market Table and is partner in Kenmare, while Lou has cooked in Colorado and Miami, and more recently at Cherry Hill's Olive and Blackfish's short-lived Stone Harbor location — the siblings are South Philly born and bred, and I'd put their gravy up against my grandmother's any day.

Whether as a dip for delicate fried calamari, moistener for mini meatball sliders or red-carpet gown for gossamer crespelle, the Campanaro clan's tomato sauce is blindingly bright, with a long, sweet, onion-y finish that tastes like summer incarnate. (The secret is ground fennel seed, but don't tell Rosie Bova, their maternal grandmom, I told you that.) Outside, snow framed the Belle's canopied entrance, but under the coffered ceilings, it felt like Fourth of July.

Those ceilings, chocolate-brown and crown-moulded, pitch to meet a wall of windows, where just beyond a grassy knoll, the Dockside apartment pier twinkles like a grand ocean liner. To maximize this panorama, the Campanaros went all Visigoth on the room, breaking through frescoed walls to reveal original brick, toppling tall columns with Styrofoam cornices. It's much more open now, and furnished with red-leather chairs fit for a stripper.

Downtown politicos and Grey Gardens types populate the adjacent lounge and original bar, a mahogany behemoth spared during renovations. It's currently the spot to experience the meatballs that earned Joey acclaim at Little Owl. Like the marinara, these break-apart-tender orbs of beef, pork and veal are from Grandmom Bova's recipe files. Pan-fried then simmered in gravy, they join fresh parsley leaves and grated Parm on house-baked slider buns scented gently with caramelized garlic.

This style of soulful, homespun Italian cooking is Lou's springboard. The baked manicotti his mother used to make when they lived around the corner has been remade into the aforementioned crespelle, thin egg crêpes folded like fans around ricotta and pine nuts and baked in the oven until their Parmigiano dusting turns crunchy and gold. These neo-manicotti are ethereal, but, Lou jokes, "My mom's not too happy about it."

If you're considering dinner here, I'd recommend delaying any 2011 fitness resolutions — carbs are the forte. Imagine the most delicate ravioli ever, round with wavy skirts, stuffed with housemade pork sausage, sautéed turnip tops, mascarpone and robiola. You'd think it a rich dish, especially glossed with brown butter, but a clandestine spark of lemon kept each bite bright like a firecracker.

There's a lovely Caprese-inspired risotto, too, its rice coaxed into creaminess by crushed tomatoes instead of stock and topped with a runny bundle of beautiful burrata. Even the potatoes (mashed Red Bliss, basket-weave rösti) are worthy diet adversaries, often stealing the spotlight from the somewhat pedestrian mains they're supposed to support, in this case a classed-up chicken Marsala on the bone and a dry, overcooked strip steak in a muddy porcini-shallot demi. The scallops also disappointed with an uneven pan-sear and a bland "crimson and gold" flannel hash of beets and potatoes designed to evoke the school colors of Central, Lou's alma mater.

My ideal meal at Village Belle would be built around pasta and starters, because so many are so great — husky escarole soup with mini versions of those meatballs; a "napoleon" of red beets and chèvre served with crisp, balsamic-anointed arugula; calamari, either fried or poached with shrimp and scallops for a lemon-y seafood salad tangled with lollo rosso lettuce. And plenty of the house-baked caramelized-onion focaccia, of course.

When the desserts arrived, I tried to play it off like I was too full, but there was no resisting the devil's food cake, bittersweet under a veil of dark ganache, jeweled with juicy Amarena cherries. The ricotta cheesecake flecked with orange zest was light enough to float off the plate (though the lemon honey and crushed pistachios would have been better on top, rather than in a sticky splotch alongside it), and the fresh-from-the-oven Granny Smith crisp with walnut streusel served with cinnamon gelato wins my award for best in town.

The desserts' entrance wasn't heralded by rolling carts of brass and gold, but I'll remember them for their pastry-precise execution and pure flavors. Ghosts of restaurants past may still haunt Village Belle's address, but this newcomer has a helluva future ahead.

(adam.erace@citypaper.net)

Village Belle | 757 S. Front St., 215-551-2200, thevillagebelle.com. Dinner served Mon.-Thu., 5:30-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5:30-11 p.m.; brunch Sun., 11 a.m.-3 p.m. Appetizers, $8-$14; entrées, $17-$26; desserts, $7. Wheelchair accessible.