'We're going where?"
After hearing this from friends on three occasions, I learned to respond with "the new Figlio" rather than "Il Gatto." Lesson learned: Most of us are really, truly averse to change. It's a good thing that Parasole Restaurant Holdings isn't, because after 25 fun-loving years, their Figlio was as tired as a "Dynasty" rerun.
The most impressive change is the addition of chef Matt Kempf, a Champlin native with a grade-A résumé that includes Goodfellow's and A Rebours. At its best, his eclectic cooking is appealingly rustic without ignoring critical technical details. While Il Gatto's menu still emphasizes the pasta and pizza of its predecessor, Kempf leads his diners a few adventurous steps off Figlio's predictable culinary path.
The most coveted toy in Kempf's kitchen is clearly the wood-burning stove, and he makes the most of it. Succulent skin-on octopus, poached in lemon juice to make it extra tender, really blossoms on the grill, as does a plate of blistered asparagus topped with a gently fried egg.
The burgers are hefty, juicy monsters, and the grill's intense heat puts a delectable sear on one of the best steaks in town. Although Kempf serves it four ways, I prefer it straight up, just brushed with a compound butter, which lets the fire and the beef speak for themselves.
I could make a daily habit of Kempf's chicken salad, a wide bowl of lovingly arranged grilled chicken, peppery arugula and big, crunchy croutons, all dressed in a mellow balsamic vinaigrette. As for the gloriously sloppy pork sausage sandwich, "It's real spicy, not Minnesota spicy," explained my server in her "Fargo" accent. No kidding. Kempf's secret: chipotle and jalapeño peppers, with the grill contributing a final sizzle.
If it were strictly a pizzeria, Il Gatto would be one of the city's top performers. After 25 years of hard use, Figlio's wood-burning oven also received a much-needed rejuvenation, resulting in pizzas of real distinction. The golden, chewy crusts have an agreeable blistered and charred edge, and they're generously topped with well-chosen ingredients, including house-smoked salmon, that fabulous pork sausage, smoky shrimp and squeaky fresh house-made mozzarella. My favorite? A baking sheet-size beauty topped with an appealing blend of sweet onions, olive oil and what tastes like a fistful of fresh thyme.
Here's what doesn't work: At one visit, three of our four entrees arrived with unpleasantly large piles of so-so French fries, buried under a blanket of parsley and coarsely grated Pecorino cheese. As just one of many of the menu's unpleasantly oversized portions, it became an apt illustration of the subject of value, or at least perceived value. Why not serve a more judicious amount, and make them perfect?
