Pampering -- at a Price

Aldo ElSharif was a chef to watch before his name went above the door. Presaging the current mania for things Tuscan, the Egypt-born, Milan-bred transplant built the first incarnation of Buttarazzi’s on intelligent Northern Italian cooking and reserved, mannered service, and the buzz that radiated from his kitchen on FM 1960 summoned enthusiasts from as far away as The Woodlands and Montrose.

Word of his culinary prowess — and undeniably magnetic personality — leaked into my neighborhood via an accomplished amateur cook whose habit of asking waiters knowledgeable questions about food preparation got an unprecedented response at Buttarazzi’s: The chef emerged to thank him for his interest, then took him on an animated tour of the kitchen, complete with samplings of imported ingredients.

With the opening of Aldo’s Dining Con Amore on lower Westheimer early last year, ElSharif made more than a geographic move. He stepped out of the periphery to center stage, where his natural graciousness and genial self-promotion erupted on impact into a one-man show. As chef and occasional host, head waiter and reservationist, he’s turned one of the last elegant houses on the strip into a haven for pampering that borders on the decadent, with prices that cross that extreme.

His fare is still Italian, but without any pretense of modesty. Pastas are made not by just any hands, but, in the menu’s own words, “Chef Aldo’s.” There’s admirably tender chicken and veal, impeccably fresh fish and wild game, all graced by the mind-blowingly complex sauces that are one of ElSharif’s fortes. Schmoozing is another; it takes an act of will to withstand his enthusiastic descriptions of his daily specials, delivered with an engaging smile and mesmerizing accent. Even when delivered by a less charismatic messenger — which sometimes happens, alas — the luscious, ornate concoctions sound impossible to resist.

Keeping an eye on the prices might shore up that backbone. Though pastas run less, and can be ordered appetizer-sized, entrees run from $14.95$39.95; daily specials of fish and game are advertised at market price, which has come in at a tidy $29.95 on four separate occasions over the past year.

Prices like that set up equally heady expectations for both taste and service. For the most part, ElSharif gives his well-paying clientele its due. Playing off the inherent grandeur of the building, which is full of the wide, unmitred molding that flourished 80 years ago, he’s created a relaxed, elegant setting, in which recorded operatic arias give way weekend nights to a harpist. What began as seven tables has mushroomed to maybe 12, sprinkled among the porch, parlor and dining room of the old house. Within these forest green walls, time circumvents usual perception: The music, the unrushed service and the expansive stuffed chairs encourage a restfulness so thorough that hours pass gently.

The magic’s greatest when ElSharif is afoot. In the early days, he was an inescapable presence throughout a meal — accepting the inevitable compliments with leonine grace and rarely leaving the periphery of a diner’s vision. The key to an extraordinary experience was jettisoning the printed menu and ordering whichever special he seemed the most excited about.

The specials are still the best bet, but ElSharif’s recommendation is not always accessible as a guidepost. Increasingly, he’s handing over customer contact duties to others, who are polite and competent but simply not as captivating. A dinner takes off when he stops by to offer effusive greetings, while the unobtrusive staff welcomes with a platter of cheeses, grilled vegetables and smoked salmon so flavorful it needs no adornment. When he doesn’t acknowledge the presence of customers, as happened during my last lunch, the experience depends all the more on the merits of the cooking.

Fortunately, the main dishes make good the promise of dazzle. Pollo in affinocchiato charms with a rich brandy sauce, which envelops a butter-soft chicken breast laden with fennel and porcini mushrooms. While the very tender veal of the scaloppine al funghi has little inherent taste of its own, it’s a sturdy base for the sensory fireworks that surround it: meaty mushrooms, including florets of chanterelles, and a dry vermouth sauce teeming with aromatic vegetables and a hint of sweetness usually associated with burgundy.

With the specials, Aldo’s sauces become more elaborate and breathtaking. Like their scaloppine cousins, veal medallions enjoy a happily smothered fate, graced by handfuls of crabmeat and porcini mushrooms and a dark, savory base with a touch of cream and garlic. Bluenose fish soars with a hearty shrimp stock mixed with golden raisins, Key lime and Frangelico; crabmeat, lobster and an atomic-size prawn are bonuses. The same citrusy, liqueur-laced reduction, specked with golden raisins and dried apricots, softens a massive slab of albacore, and the dulcet concoction works wonders as well on the crab and shrimp topping. A powerfully sweet mix of berries forms the unusual sauce that’s usually paired with game, which, the last time I had it, was a mix-and-match of boar, elk and kangaroo.

Pastas are equally rich and heavy, but more variable. Pine nuts and grilled tomatoes enliven the crescent-shaped pasta agnolotti alla musica, while black olives overwhelm the sun-dried and roma tomatoes of the penne al fratello.

Outside the main attractions, the allure lessens. The bread is chewy and flavorful, but what’s served as butter is not; it may be flecked with fresh Italian spices — or chunks of dates and dried apricots — but it has the less-than-welcoming slickness of margarine. Insalata Italiana, which one waiter recommended over the simple house salad, derives interest primarily from the array of tiny greens, which include arugula, fennel and radicchio; the dismissable dressing tastes mainly of red wine vinegar and salt, and too much salt at that. A side order of spinach, offered as a replacement for unavailable green beans, arrived sauteed in slices of garlic, a combination that worked until digging revealed an overcooked batch. (The results would have been perfectly acceptable under less refined conditions, especially if the tab had been less than $4.95 for a saucer full.)

Desserts fall so short of the heights of the entrees that they might as well come from another kitchen — and in fact, most of what’s on the dessert tray these days is, as the staff relates without elaboration, “from Italy.” Their enticing appearance caused me to pass up putting in a souffle order at the outset (preparation takes 45 minutes); the sight of one arriving at a nearby table confirmed the rightness of the decision, if only because a party of two would have drowned in the dessert’s enormousness. We would at least have had the amusement of ladling out white and dark chocolate sauces and fresh berries, instead of picking at dryish chocolate cakes that more than hinted at hailing most recently from the refrigerator. Next to them, the complimentary plate of amaretto cookies, which had previously left me unimpressed, took on new appeal.

Still, these blips don’t threaten the overall effect of grand beneficence. Others, however, do– such as neglecting to disclose information that has an impact on the bill’s total. Sure, it may be common not to mention the prices of specials unless one is asked, but it wouldn’t occur to most people that their delicious lunch entree would cost a most uncommon $40. Nor would they expect to be shelling out in the neighborhood of three dollars apiece for iced tea and coffee. At least the tea is frequently topped off; coffee (not espresso, not cappuccino, but merely acceptable joe) loses some of its metaphoric taste when the empties disappear without offer of a refill.

Even water can be unexpectedly expensive. For fun, my latest dinner party accepted a bottle of Italian mineral water a waiter presented like a fine vintage for our approval. Having it stored in a tableside wine icer enhanced the general sensation of being pampered, until the bill arrived. I didn’t object to the charge of $5.95 a bottle; in fact, in a place that has served me a $13 glass of wine, I was braced for higher. What floored me was learning that we’d been served, and billed for, a second bottle without anyone’s bothering to mention it.

This sort of disclosure wouldn’t leave a bad taste if it occurred at a time more appropriate than the end of the meal. The same goes for listing merlot by the glass at $6.95 and then delivering something that the customer later discovers cost two dollars more. This sort of realization replaces the feeling of being taken care of with the suspicion of something quite different. True, discreet service is often part of the packaging of extraordinary cooking and pampering. Discretion goes too far, however, when it undercuts the very experience it should be enhancing. And the experience of Aldo’s is one worth savoring.

Aldo’s Dining Con Amore, 219 Westheimer, 523-2536.

Aldo’s Dining Con Amore:
veal medallions, $39.95;
albacore with crabmeat, golden raisins and Frangelico, $29.95;
penne al fratello (appetizer portion), $7.95;
insalata Italiana, $5.95;
spinach, $4.95.