Thoroughly modern deli
High-end Italian-American classics made to order at Porta Via
By Dan O'Heron 10/18/2007
If the Gold Line station located near the deli were a border crossing, a US Customs inspector would have a professional interest these days in what’s in your shopping bag.
Imagine: “Nothing to declare, you say,” he says with a weary, disdainful look, as if expecting you to lead an insurgency. “Then what’s this Villa Manodori balsamic vinegar from Modena doing here? It’s at least 12 years old. It might be 50. Where are you coming from?”
“Porta Via,” you tell him.
“And you say you’ve been to Porta Via and have nothing declare?” He juggles several bottles of Belaria white truffle-infused olive oil. “Are these not contraband?”
You surrender your passport and wait for the next train back to Ralph’s.
Porta Via Italian Foods
1 W. California Blvd., Pasadena
(626) 793-9000
www.portaviafoods.com
You might have gotten by — even with Medellin stamped on your passport — had you flipped the sentinel a Porta Via nine-ingredient beef meatball. Kept moistened inside by freshly minced veggies and outside by steeping in its own juices, then topped by a dollop of classic San Marzano cooked plum tomato, it’s just one of the new deli’s many ways to win you over.
Here in the real world, Porta Via boasts shelves of storied vinegars and oils and other condiments, along with exquisite ready-made meals featuring fine imported and artisan meats and cheeses, as well as a variety of deluxe side dishes. The foods combine tried-and-true rules and recipes from classic Italian delis and grills with Italian inspirations from thoroughly modern casual cafes.
Its gourmet “eat-in” and “to-go” menu includes sandwiches and panini (from $6.95 to $9.50), a salad bar (from $6.95), lunch and dinner specials from $7.99 to $12.95 each, and scores of ready-made trays and platters — sold by the pound — of antipasti, vegetables, pastas, main-course meats, poultry and seafood.
The menu was prepared with the assistance of Octavio Becerra, former corporate executive chef of Joachim Splichal’s chic, upscale Patina Group. As it evolves, the menu is supervised by Becerra protégé Gary Menes. They were enlisted by Porta Via’s managing partners Victor Ciulla (also a partner and board member of Twin Palms) and John Weithas, former master franchisee of Kenny Rogers Roasters.
On my first visit, just a week or so after its opening, I joined a huge crowd in gawking and gasping at the rich diversity of the overhead menu and the allure of twin deli cases, beautifully arrayed with trays of everything from asparagus with roasted orange and pine nuts to baked ziti. With salamis dangling from a vaulted ceiling and the crowd rubbing elbows below, it could have been taken for an upscale deli in New York City, except that too many customers had good suntans.
An efficient by-the-number ordering system allows customers standing in line a good look at the stock in the refrigerated cases. Approaching a veal shank osso buco, sprinkled with pine-nut gremolada, the strictest vegetarian might begin to taste penance. Temptation might also arise from ogling a Pacific rock cod lounging on a bed pebbled with lentils and pancetta, or lasagna Bolognese, with béchamel peeking from its many layers.
I must emphasize that Porta Via is not a snobby joint where customers are stiffed by pretensions. Here a busy staff of 12 wears easy Hallmark-card smiles, building a
well-defined rapport between server and customer. I’m told that during a typically madhouse lunch hour, one of the lunchers took 10 minutes to discuss with a customer what cheese paired best with the inexpensive bottle of wine she brought in and was carefully cradling. (Porta Via will have wines of its own pretty soon.)
Snob-free, yes, but by hobnobbing around happy gourmets, all customers begin to think of themselves as superior food consumers. And why shouldn’t they? Where else but Porta Via can they be quickly served lunch, dinner and take-home specialties like Red Cow Parmigiano Reggiano? Though it has a granular, melt-in-the-mouth texture like regular Parmesan, its infinite superiority comes from the milk of a legendary breed of red-furred cows, the original mothers of Parmesan, richer and nuttier than all others. The red cow is revered in Italy as much as Elsie, the beast of Borden, is in America.
And just think: Another prominent cow — the Japanese sumo cow — provides American-bred Kobe beef for Porta Via’s simple roast beef sandwich. Where else can you get truly fresh marbles of mozzarella with baby tomatoes? This is a California-artisan mozz, not imported. To get truly fresh mozzarella from Italy, the partners would have to own a deli in New York City.
But nowhere else can you get jellies like fig-tangerine, strawberry-lemon thyme and plum-ginger, accompanied by a list of matchmaking cheeses and wines.
Permitting a bit of hyperbole, we shouldn’t be surprised that Italy, the country that gave us saints, would inspire a deli in Pasadena with food for the gods.
Mi scusi.
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