I'm not supposed to be writing this. Just as I wasn't supposed to be stuffing myself on panna cotta flavoured exquisitely with white truffle shavings; not after pumpkin soup (served in a pumpkin), a New York Ginseng, three glasses of Chardonnay, freshly sliced mango, berries, a thimbleful of grappa (that is the story and I'm sticking to it) and a plate of tagliatelle with, yes, white truffles. I'm supposed to be chained to my desk, living off bread and dripping, writing a radio play that is long overdue. It's just that I made the mistake of answering the phone, which is supposed to be switched off.
'I've got a story for you,' a voice said. It was my editor. 'Thank you very much,' I said, 'only I'm not accepting any work. Not until I've finished my radio play.' 'Oh,' said the voice. 'That is a pity. Because the story is something you might actually enjoy.' 'I'm sure,' I said. 'Only I can't possibly do it, whatever it is, because I'm not allowed out of the house until I've finished my radio play.' Then there was a pause. 'Out of interest, though,' I said vaguely, 'the story? What did you have in mind?'
The subject of the story is Silvano Marchetto, an Italian restaurateur, who owns and runs a Greenwich Village restaurant called Da Silvano, and who has a cook book just out, called Da Silvano Cookbook: Simple Secrets from New York's Favourite Italian Restaurant. The book is published by Bloomsbury, Marchetto's agent is Andrew Wylie (whom he thanks, alongside Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter in his acknowledgments and who is also known as the Jackal and for luring Martin Amis away from Pat Kavanagh) and the foreword is written by the novelist Nick Tosches, whose first book was called Hellfire and whose biography of Dean Martin, Dino, is about to be made into a movie by Martin Scorsese. As you might assume, given this information, the Da Silvano Cookbook is not the sort of tome that will offer an eager wannabe chef the types of secrets he or she might find in the back of Marie Claire magazine. This is a manly cook book, with all the right ingredients that makes it one of those books that you will have to have. Never mind if you've never cooked, and don't plan to. The book will be a friend. Like the restaurant is. If you visit New York and you fancy yourself something of an old hand about town, you will always eat at Da Silvano. Never mind that it doesn't look like much, with its bare brick walls and random decoration, or that it is situated in the least charming patch of the Village, where Sixth Avenue meets Houston Street. Never mind that it is so overpriced even the waiters seem to be laughing to themselves as they hand you the bill. Eighty dollars for a bit of pasta? Never mind. It's Da Silvano. It's irresistible.
'Da Silvano,' I said to my editor. 'A cookbook? Really?' 'Yes,' she said smartly, 'so go and eat there and interview Silvano, the owner. Only don't order the most expensive bottle of wine.' 'I love Da Silvano,' I said. 'I know Silvano. Da Silvano is my favourite restaurant,' I continued, even though I don't and it isn't. It nearly is. And anyway, that's what you say about Da Silvano. It is everyone's favourite restaurant. It is Graydon Carter's favourite and Anna Wintour's favourite and Calvin Klein's favourite. Susan Sontag eats there all the time, as does Fran Lebowitz, Paul Schrader, and Francesco Clemente. Damien Hirst ate there the night after his first big show at the Gagosian Gallery. Sophie Dahl is a regular. So is Gwyneth Paltrow. So is Patrick Demarchelier. Madonna's eaten there. Jack Nicholson is a regular when he is in town, and so is Danny De Vito, and so is Will Smith. I won't go on. Most of them have signed the visitors' book and their signatures and comments (Madonna's reads 'yummy yummy') are dispersed throughout the cookbook, something you might think, that strikes a faintly embarrassing note.
But that's the thing about Da Silvano. That is reason number one why it is everyone's favourite restaurant and has been ever since it opened in 1975, back when SoHo was filled with art galleries instead of cosmetic and bathroom fitting shops. Reason to love it number one is: nothing about it is embarrassing, not even Marchetto's outfits (think black leather waistcoat, striped drainpipe trousers and black ear studs), never mind the celebrity quotient. It is not deliberately chic (it's not chic at all), it's not frou frou, and, apart from its prices, it's not fancy. The food is earthy and unpretentious. You won't feel silly ordering something that arrives piled high on a plate like a phallus, or surrounded by pink polka dots of coulis. Besides, the celebrity autographs and comments in the book surely come with a good pinch of sea salt. Certainly, in person Marchetto doesn't fawn over his celebrity guests. It's not his style. How you get treated by Marchetto, depends on him and his mood, not on who you or who you are with. Of course I'm sure Gwyneth puts him in a very good mood indeed. The companion I ate with most recently, however, didn't. He doesn't get out much either, being a somewhat reclusive filmmaker. But still, I knew if I called and dangled . 'I have to eat at Da Silvano tonight,' I said. 'For a piece. Will you come?' 'I will,' he said. And he did.
He ordered, for a starter, panzanella, which is one of Da Silvano's signature dishes. I did what I was told by our waiter and ordered pumpkin soup (I would have done anything for that waiter or any waiter at Da Silvano: they all look like Al Pacino in The Godfather with slick black hair and long thin noses). Panzanella is bread salad, and before Silvano opened his restaurant, such a dish didn't exist in New York at all. You make it, I know now, from reading the cookbook, with a loaf of stale country bread soaked in cold water, basil, a couple of roasted red peppers, a red onion and two small cucumbers. Crunchy sea salt, black pepper and a lashing of red vinegar is what gives it its bite. The filmmaker didn't even look at the menu to know that he wanted this dish, and it arrived with an appropriate flourish, which is to say that it was thumped down on the table at speed. A few moments later our waiter returned and offered the filmmaker freshly ground pepper for his panzanella. The filmmaker said no thank you and admired my soup bowl, which was a real live pumpkin, which means that it isn't vulgar to serve pumpkin soup in a pumpkin. And then, just before he began to eat, he noticed that his panzanella was already covered in fresh ground pepper, and so he did the unthinkable. He returned it.
This does not happen at Da Silvano. It is everyone's favourite restaurant, reason two being: the food is so good. The food is good. Plus, if you are a customer, you aren't the kind of eater who complains that their Florentine steak needs more cooking. You like it rare, rare rare, and most likely, with purè di patate, cimi di rapa, and a bottle of Tignanello-Antinori to drink, which is how it is served at Da Silvano and how, helpfully, Marchetto's book instructs you to cook and serve it. You trust that everything that arrives at your table is perfect in its simple, rustic, earthy way, because you know that Marchetto himself is there making sure of it. Which is reason number three why Da Silvano is everyone's favourite restaurant. Marchetto is always there. He is there in the morning, making sure that all his produce arrives just as it ought, which is when he actually cooks (yes, he cooks every day, preparing sauces and specials in the morning for the day's customers). He is there to seat you and he is there when you leave.
'There is pepper on my salad,' the filmmaker said. I was amazed, and both dismayed and impressed to hear him complain. 'I would like it without pepper,' he said politely. The waiter did not say anything. His eyes, however, became fixed in their sockets. He looked darkly and disappeared. 'What?' Marchetto arrived like a bat out of hell. 'Who sent something back?' 'I did,' said the filmmaker naively. 'It's just that I like the panzanella without ground pepper.'
'Panzanella is seasoned in the kitchen,' Marchetto barked out, not looking at the filmmaker. 'That is the way it comes. If you don't like it, order something else. Bruschetta. You can have bruschetta.' Bruschetta is Tuscan toast piled high with chopped tomatoes, basil and olive oil. The secret of it is in the garlic, a peeled clove of which you rub on the toast instead of butter. It is a delicacy, just not the delicacy the filmmaker wanted. 'I want the panzanella,' he said. 'I've had it here before. Usually it doesn't have pepper ground all over it.'
'It does,' said Marchetto. 'Always. I put salt and pepper on it in the morning, when I make it. I season it. In the kitchen. You can't have it. You'll get bruschetta.' And so the filmmaker got bruschetta and he ate every bite. You couldn't not.
After that we both had the tagliatelle with white truffles, it being white truffle season. That shut us up. The recipe in the book for this dish is four lines long. You cook the pasta, add truffle butter and truffle oil, toss, divide into bowls and shave six to eight slices of fresh white truffle from Alba over each portion. Unless you are Warren Beatty, whom the story goes, ate this dish at Da Silvano one night and ordered eight portions of white truffles for one order of tagliatelle. His dish cost him $500. But that's megastars for you. The dish is pungent and simple and earthy just as it comes. It is memorably good, which is the simple secret of the success of Da Silvano: fabulous ingredients fastidiously cooked and served by a loving tyrant.
Silvano Marchetto did not plan to become a cook. 'I was supposed to go to engineering school,' he told me by way of my interview when I went back to the restaurant the next day, in between lunch and dinner. 'But there weren't enough places in the engineering school, so okay, I went to cooking school in Florence and then I came here and I opened this and we serve fresh, good, simple food cooked well and people like it and that is all. Have you tried the panna cotta with white truffles?' he says, about to get up.
I tell him that indeed I ate it last night, after eating white truffle pasta. I ask him what he does when the restaurant is packed full and Donald Trump arrives, unannounced, with a party of six, which is what I saw happen last night. 'Yes well, these kinds of situations can be tricky,' Marchetto says, not impressed by either my boast or my question, 'but if you have been in the restaurant business for 25 years as I have, then you know how to deal with these things. The other night Larry Gagosian came in with 10 people. We were full. Of course. But I found him a table. A minute later he was joined by 10 more guests. So of course you juggle a bit. But you know how to do these things if you work in this business. OK, so now you have your interview. I will bring you panna cotta.' And he did.
Nick Tosches describes Marchetto's panna cotta as the best panna cotta in the world. Da Silvano is not known for its desserts; most meals are finished with fresh berries or a few spoonfuls of sharp blood orange sorbet but the panna cotta is a speciality. 'Of course the cookbook will be good,' the filmmaker said at our dinner, as he surveyed the lovely round of cooked white cream (complete with truffles) which arrived just as we swore we would never, could never, eat again. 'But I bet Silvano will leave out the panna cotta recipe.'
'He can't,' I said, busy inhaling the aroma from the voluptuous blond pudding. 'He wouldn't.'
'He would,' said the filmmaker, still recovering from panzanella deprivation. 'You saw how tricky he is. He does what he wants. He's right there. Marchetto opened his restaurant after working as a chef in Switzerland and Paris, and as a waiter in New York for seven years (he is a purist, and didn't want to cook in an American kitchen for fear of what he might learn). He opened a trattoria because he wanted to serve the Tuscan food he'd grown up eating, and because the food he found in Little Italy, all spaghetti and meatballs, just up the road from his Village spot, was not his idea of Italian food. For 25 years he has dedicated his professional and personal life to serving his idea of good food: his wife (they are separated) is the restaurant's book-keeper. His girlfriend used to be the restaurant's hostess, but she now helps out during the day, arranging flowers and such.
The Da Silvano Cookbook is an extended love letter to the ingredients that have kept him, and his loyal clientele, enthralled throughout these years. Each recipe has a brief introduction explaining its origin, and a wine suggestion you would do well to follow. It is a pleasure to read about Viareggina, a salad made from hearts of palm and avocado that was created in Viareggio, a resort town in Northern Tuscany, or the Tuscan fish stew Marchetto has adapted from the cacciucco made by the local lifeguards that he used to eat when he was a boy in Forte dei Marmi, or the osso buco alla Milanese and gremolata he grew to love when he was serving in the Italian army, stationed in Bologna. Like eating in Marchetto's restaurant, dipping into his book makes you feel good.
But the best thing about it is that it works. You can use it. I have just finished making Marchetto's panna cotta. Never mind that I'm not a cook, or that I shouldn't be doing any of this. It's Da Silvano. It's irresistible. The recipe is in the book, and yes, there is a secret to it.
To order Da Silvano Cookbook (Bloomsbury £20) for the special price of £17 plus p&p, call the Observer book service on 0870 066 7989
Bruschetta - Tuscan toast with tomatoes
The simplicity and flavours of bruschetta perfectly reflect the spirit of late summer, which is the best time to make and enjoy it because it depends on the best, freshest tomatoes for its success. Notice how much flavour you get out of garlic just by rubbing it on the toasted bread - there's none of it in the finished dish, but you taste its essence in every bite.
serves 4
6 plum tomatoes, cut into 1cm cubes
10 fresh basil leaves
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
fine sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
small loaf crusty Tuscan bread, cut into 8 1cm slices
1 clove garlic, peeled
Place the tomatoes in a ceramic or stainless steel mixing bowl. Tear the basil leaves into small pieces and add them. Drizzle the olive oil over the tomatoes and basil and season with salt and pepper.Gently mix the tomatoes, basil, and oil with a wooden spoon. Taste and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Set aside.
Toast the bread slices. Place the garlic on the tines of a fork and brush it once on the upward-facing side of the toast slices in a Z pattern.
Spoon some tomato-basil mixture on each slice, arrange the slices on a platter and serve immediately.
Wine Suggestion: Arneis Blangé, Ceretto
Tonno pepato - pepper tuna
When I worked in Paris years ago, one of my favourite dishes to eat was steak au poivre - steak coated in coarsely ground pepper before it's cooked. This dish is made the same way, but with tuna in place of steak. It was an instant success when I introduced it at Da Silvano almost two decades ago and it's still popular today.
Serve this with accompaniments you might enjoy with a steak, such as cime di rapa (broccoli) , spinaci (spinach), or even puré di patate (mashed potatoes).
serves 4
4 sushi-grade tuna fillets (225g each) cut 15cm long and 5 cm thick
110ml olive oil
fine seat salt
55g coarsely ground black pepper
juice of 1 lemon
Lightly coat each tuna fillet with one tablespoon olive oil, using your fingers to spread it out evenly. Season the tuna fillets lightly with salt. Spread the pepper out on a clean dry surface and roll the tuna fillets in the pepper, pressing down to make sure that it adheres to the fish.
Warm the remaining olive oil in a pan large enough to hold the tuna over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the tuna fillets. Sear on all sides, about 90 seconds for each of 4 sides or longer for more well done.
Remove the tuna from the pan, slice each fillet into -inch slices, divide among 4 dinner plates, drizzle with the lemon juice, and serve at once.
Wine suggestion: Fiano di Avellino - Feudi San Gregorio
What they say... and what he says
'Good clams.' Jodie Foster
'Silvano - your corn beef and cabbage is just so Italian.' Emma Thompson
'for Da Silvano - mucho grazie!' Gwyneth Paltrow
'Yummy yummy.' Madonna
'Sometimes we think it would be cheaper to go to Italy than to go to Silvano's, but then when we arrive it's like being in Tuscany. And there is Silvano, presiding over the revels - and that is what they are - like Il Duce with a sense of humour.' John Gregory Dunne and Joan Didion
'Thanks in advance for the free meal!' Steve Martin
'Thanks! Bravo!' Tom Hanks
'Thanks for a beautiful lunch! Bellissimo!' Danny DeVito
'I love it at Da Silvano because I love Silvano - and the food, of course.' Sarah Jessica Parker
'One can only experience the richness of what Silvano offers if one is willing to have faith in his love for the finest food, and in his heart felt dedication to, and pride in, fulfilling that love.' Nick Tosches
Silvano Marchetto on ...everything
'Vogue editor Anna Wintour loves Paillard D'agnello [flash fried lamb] black and blue - meaning almost raw.'
'If I go to a friend's in the Hamptons for a weekend, I'll bring along a pig. This way I can roast the dinner and go for a walk at the same time.'
'It's sad how many people in the United States are unfamiliar with the pleasures of rabbit.'
'Spiedini di scampi [shrimp skewers] is a favourite dish of Victoria Sanders. Who's she? My neighbour. Celebrity or not, I really don't care.'
'Nick Tosches loves Zuppa all aglio [garlic soup]. In fact, Nick loves almost anything with garlic in it. He is always my first customer of the day for lunch.'
'Warren Beatty ordered Tagliatelle al tartufo bianco one night. When I asked him how he liked it, he said that it was delicious but that he wanted more truffles. I explained that white truffles are very expensive and that I had already shaved half of one over his dish. "Give me eight orders worth of truffles," he said. It turned into a $500 plate of pasta.'
'When my father was an officer in the Italian army, we lived for a time in the barracks. The officer next door was Sicilian, and his wife made Bucatini con le sarde [pasta with sardine] and I fell in love with it long before I tasted it.'
