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Meatballs, meet modernism

Lago's scallop crudo
Elizabeth Buehring
Elizabeth Buehring

At Lago, Italian classics get a fresh makeover for the modern

I grew up in a Sicilian enclave just outside of the Bronx. It was a place where manicotti outnumbered meatloaf on dinner tables and everyone’s last name ended with a vowel. This has had considerable influence on my standards for a good Italian meal, my bias leaning towards Americanized, homespun food served in boat-sized vessels and shared among convivial family members who, if cut, bleed gravy. (Where I’m from, you never called it sauce.)

So when it was announced that chef Julian Serrano of Picasso would replace Circo at the Bellagio with Lago, a modern Italian concept, my response was tepid. Tourist-priced shared plates served in shiny environs are anathema to working-class, garlic-flavored roots. And, truth be told, it was hard to muster any excitement when I’ve never been wowed by Serrano’s eponymous Spanish restaurant at Aria.

But a recent dinner there turned out to be one of the nicest meals I’ve had in four years of living in Las Vegas. Half of this was due to strategic planning. I studied the weather report and chose a pleasant day. A prime time reservation was sacrificed for a weekday meal at 5 p.m. so my party could claim an outdoor table. I would recommend you do the same — a front-row, lakeside view of the fountain show is priceless, but the interior is hit-or-miss. The bright, ultramodern space reminds me of George Jetson’s living room.

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Anyway, an early dinner is a minor inconvenience for what Serrano’s team gives in return. Outstanding and knowledgeable (but never intimidating) service made all three members of the table kvetch about its rarity. Cocktails, while expensive, are creative. Sip on a Sicilian gin and tonic while you get spritzed from the fountains. Made with kaffir lime, Italian soda and blood orange pearls, your favorite college well drink is much better in this grown-up form.

I was partially right about the small plates — they possess none of the hearty lustiness that I associate with Italian cooking. However, some of them are surprisingly lovely. A miniature round of focaccia topped with shaved pork jowl and fava beans screams of springtime; I only wish the crumb on mine was a little less dry. Of the four crudo (think Italian sashimi) available, try the capasanta, or scallops. The sweet slices of flesh are enhanced with blood orange segments, Sicilian pistachios and a splash of mild olive oil for a light and bright starter.

The only ho-hum pick is the insalata sarda. Slices of heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers, arranged like dainty tiles and showered with grated ricotta salata, leans on the wrong side of minimalism. (If a 5-year-old can make it in five minutes, I’m not paying $14 for it.)

Serrano fares better with pastas. A proper linguine with clam sauce is a shameless thing: bursting with plump seafood, oozing with oil, offending you with its garlicky goodness. His version, made with house-made spaghetti chitarra, hits all of those marks. From the carne section, a shared plate of quaglia saltimbocca, or boned quail wrapped in prosciutto and sage, is a creative alternative to the usual veal. The meat on this bird tends to dry quickly, but the addition of pork keeps it moist.

The rest of the menu is equally diverse. Handmade gnocchi with lobster knuckles will appeal to the gourmand, while meatballs and Italian sausage skewers will satisfy the guy who wants to eat like a Goodfella. For those who consider pizza taste-testing a fond pastime, Serrano has three to choose from: margherita, zucchini/provolone and speck with cipolline onions.

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For dessert, expect well-executed and visually stunning takes on familiar classics. A wobbly panna cotta flecked with heady vanilla bean seeds is matched with refreshing citrus segments and a sweet-tart passion fruit sorbet. And the giadujotto, which will appeal to Nutella addicts, is a study in textures and temperatures that every pastry chef should strive to achieve. Decadent chocolate and hazelnut mousse gives way to a crunchy biscuit base; a spoonful of hazelnut ice cream with each bite completely sets it off.

Lago may not have provoked a rush of nostalgia, but it also didn’t disappoint. In fact, I’m grateful that I ate there when I did, because I suspect my future requests for a fountain-side table will be met with a “fuhgeddaboudit.” 

Lago In the Bellagio702-693-7111, bellagio.com

Hours
Sun, Mon, Wed, Thu 5-11p
Tue, Fri, Sat 5p-12a