Since the time I was a small child, I have always loved Italian food. My fondest memories involve walking to the local pizza shop with my grandfather where mouth watering aromas sent my stomach into a fit of hungry growls. I could barely wait to sink my teeth into the greasy slice of hot baked dough with thick layers of creamy mozzarella cheese dripping and bubbling over sweet tangy sauce.
In my early twenties I was spoiled by Boston's North End where Hanover Street and the surrounding neighborhoods overflowed with authentic Italian restaurants. The tantalizing aroma of fresh baked breads, pizza and pastries floated around every corner. In later years I relocated to New York City and became a pasta addict. I saved my hard earned pennies and took up running in Central Park so I could afford to indulge in the fine eateries of Manhattan's Upper East Side, where heaping plates of hearty Bolognese, spicy Puttanesca and rich Penne alla Vodka topped with fresh grated parmesan were accompanied by thick loaves of crusty warm bread and washed down with velvety mouthfuls of Pinot Noir.
When I moved to Charleston nine years ago, my well honed taste buds entered into a shocking state of withdrawal. I missed my late night walks down Second Avenue munching on a thin slice of greasy pizza, as I headed for my tiny studio where I could spot at least five Italian restaurants from my bedroom window. No longer could I step outside my front door on a warm spring evening, grab a table on the street and feast on crusty warm bread soaked in olive oil, ridiculously tender Veal Marsala, savory bowls of Rigatoni Amatriciana, rich, creamy layers of homemade tiramisu and hot frothy cappuccino sprinkled with cocoa. I nearly gave up hope, until two guys from Naples, Carlo Colella and Davide Davino, opened Cuoco Pazzo (a.k.a. Crazy Chef) on Johnnie Dodds Blvd. in Mount Pleasant. When my mother first told me that she found an authentic family style Italian restaurant right here in Mount Pleasant, I was highly skeptical. Even so, I could hardly resist checking the place out.
My husband and I dined at Cuoco Pazzo on a recent Saturday evening. As we entered the place and I noticed several groups of satisfied looking customers lingering over coffee and dessert, I began to feel mildly encouraged. With two waitresses managing a small handful of tables, the service was prompt, friendly and attentive. I took a bite of warm crusty Italian bread soaked in herb infused olive oil and grated parmesan, then washed it down with a perfectly smooth sip of Montepulciano. If bread and wine could succeed in rousing my horribly deprived taste buds, then perhaps there is hope after all, I thought. I slowly perused the menu, pausing at the Spaghetti alla Carbonara and Vitello alla Marsala. We ordered both, in addition to the Pollo alla Parmigiana for my husband's more conventional taste buds.
By the time I took my second bite of the Carbonara I knew I would return to this place, and when the Veal Marsala literally melted in my mouth, I wanted to run into the kitchen and hug both chefs. We invited Carlos back to our table to express our appreciation, then bid farewell with two generous scoops of homemade Strawberry and Raspberry Gelato accompanied by two festive shots of Limoncello. I could not wait to return, and so I did, this time in search of the inside story.
How did two guys from Naples and one man from downtown Boston cross paths in Charleston and arrive at the same point in time to create a joint vision? On a recent Tuesday morning I found myself sitting across from Jo Meli, financier and silent partner behind the scenes, who left a long career as a nightclub owner to open Cuoco Pazzo. Jo's wife Dawn manages the books and the inventory, while Caro and Davide bring us a taste of their homeland through fresh ingredients, intense passion and a focus on simplicity.
They grow their own basil at the restaurant, and the veal is so tender, it can be cut with a spoon. By midmorning Carlo and Davide were already hard at work in the kitchen. The enormous vat of tomato ragu simmering on the burner smelled so delicious I wanted to dive head first into the pot. Despite my pleading I was unsuccessful in learning the recipe. Davide told me there is no magic to a good sauce, aside from a nice slow simmer and fresh wholesome ingredients.
Lunch was fast approaching and I could feel my stomach beginning to rumble. At that moment Davide jumped up and asked what I might like for lunch. I suggested it be the chef's choice, and shortly thereafter Davide returned from the kitchen with steaming plates of thinly sliced, tender chicken breast in a lemon wine sauce with fresh artichokes. The five us (Davide, Carlos, Jo, Dawn and myself) enjoyed a casual midday meal filled with laughter and camaraderie as I continued my quest for the inside story.
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