There is a smell that pervades Italian-American joints. It's a spicy, pungent headiness that seems to flow from the kitchen, from the dishes that hit the table, and, let's be honest, from the pores of people who have completed their meals. It's garlic, of course, and a wall of it smacks us in the face as we walk through the front door of Rigatoni's.
I love the stuff. I love the slow-cooked red sauce (impregnated with even more garlic) that graces almost every plate at restaurants like Rigatoni's, slopped over pasta. I love the doughy, yeasty garlic bread twists that remind me of early Sunday supper. It's family food that owes more to 1970s New York than Mario Batali's Italy.
At Rigatoni's, you won't be blown away by either inventive or classical Italian cuisine. It's not that kind of place. One thing you can be sure of, though, is that you will walk away sated.
Rigatoni has made a name in the catering biz, transporting trays of their crowd-pleasing pastas and salads throughout town for graduation parties and corporate luncheons. Last year, owners Sonia and Rick Barcena relocated from downtown to Kennedy Boulevard and opened for dinner. That also extended the availability of their popular take-out service.
The dining room is faux rustic and loud when busy, with an open kitchen that redefines the trend. Instead of just a little window into the work area, there is a huge arched entrance that opens straight into the meat of the dining room. Watch them work, if you'd like, but there's no drama. The food streams out with little preparatory fuss.
Like those garlic knots ($4), yeasty twists of dough doused with butter and, well, garlic, of course. The basket of bread comes with a container of Rigatoni's marinara, the red gravy foundation of Italian-American cuisine. Rigatoni's is a satisfyingly typical representation — thick and tomatoey sweet and loaded with garlic and dried herbs. It tastes like childhood.
That sauce rescues a plate of calamari ($11) coated in nicely crisped but almost entirely unseasoned breading. Doused in red gravy, the calamari become crunchy and chewy textural notes in a sea of garlic and tomatoes. The pasty ricotta filling in Rigatoni's fried ravioli ($5.50) also benefits from frequent dips into the sauce. Sauce is important here.
Except with mussels ($11) — they come with a buttery surprise. The little black shells, home to exceedingly plump nuggets of mussel, sit in a broth of tart lemon, garlic and rich butter. It's a look toward Northern Italy, where olive oil takes a back seat to cow-based fats, and it's a little unusual for Italian-American. It sure is good, though.
Does anyone expect ripe tomatoes in the perennial caprese salads ($9) that grace the menus of almost all Italian joints? Most of the year, it ain't gonna happen. Even in the middle of summer, ripe tomatoes aren't always easy to come by. Like the thick cut monsters layered with mozzarella in Rigatoni's version. The flavor is pretty good, so it's probably worth chomping through the crunchy pink flesh, but that's debatable.
There is nothing more iconic Italian-American than a big section of lasagna ($14) cut from a giant pan. When mine hits the table, it's surrounded by a sea of Rigatoni's sauce and covered by a white blanket of freshly melted mozzarella. With the first bite, I realize that this is a serious dish. Maybe not in terms of quality — the ricotta and meat and layers of pasta are very dry — but certainly in terms of sheer caloric density. This brick of pasta is the culinary equivalent of iron; let's call it a pound of food packed into a deceptively small square. I'm a little surprised our petite waitress could carry it from the kitchen.
I suspect that Rigatoni's eggplant parmesan ($16) would be good if it weren't overwhelmed by a mess of sauce and cheese. Texture is important when serving eggplant, a veggie that doesn't really have any flavor. There's the flavor of breading and fry hidden in there, but no crispy crunch. Soft shell crabs ($21), however, have that crunch in spades, with a creamy dipping sauce.
Better than both of those dishes — in flavor and for the waistline — is a filet of grouper ($17) reclining amidst penne and tomatoes. Each bite is rich and lively, with that Mediterranean combo of olives, capers and garlic brightening the flavor. Rigatoni's eponymous pasta, called Rigatoni R, ($14) is tossed with chunks of chicken and powerful shreds of sun-dried tomatoes, along with a creamy sauce of garlic and parmesan cheese. Be thankful for those sun-dried tomatoes for the occasional burst of tart and fresh they impart to the palate. With them, it's a rich but satisfying dish. Without, this would be almost as heavy as the lasagna.
Let's be honest, though. It's the distinct caloric volume that draws people to places like Rigatoni's. There's nothing quite as satisfying as loading your gut with more carbohydrates than should be consumed in an average day, all in one sitting. You'll be aiming for the couch as soon as you finish the drive home. That's the appeal of Italian-American food. Thank God the Atkins stormtroopers are fading fast. Carbs are back, baby.
In that respect, Rigatoni's delivers exactly what it should — tasty comfort food that'll fill you up. If you have an Italian-American mom, at least second or third generation, your childhood Sunday afternoons would likely have been filled with food like this. If you don't, head to Rigatoni's. They'll put some meat on your bones.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
