Jen S.
Yelp
For those who haven't had the pleasure of Ciro, allow me to tell you the story.
At first glance, it is disappointingly unassuming. There are no tables. There is only a kitchen countertop with high bar stools. "I dressed up for this?" I thought to myself.
There were only two men who worked there, including a slender man who claimed to be the chef. They say to never trust a skinny chef, so I was skeptical.
The chef/owner, Ciro, proudly told us that he made the pasta from scratch, he uses hard to find sugars for his desserts and only uses the freshest ingredients for his pre-cooked food he warms in front of you. Unlike most restaurants, there were no pans on fire, dinging of bells, or garnishes on the side of plates.
One bite of his food and it doesn't matter. None of it matters. The lack of tables, the pre-cooked food. He could've pulled the pasta from the garbage and I still would have eaten it.
You can taste the art, the craft, and the care that Ciro developed and perfected over time. His love of food stemmed from watching his grandmother cook in Italy. As a young boy, he sat under a table in her kitchen, mesmerized by the smells of her Italian dishes, the sight of flour flown in the air.
If you've ever seen one of the last scenes in the movie Ratatouille, the experience is similar to that of the food critic. He takes one bite of his food and he's suddenly transported to when he was a young boy and his mother lovingly prepared ratatouille. Only the experience at Ciro is that you are transported to his childhood. You taste the love his grandmother had for him as a young boy in Italy.
In short, his food is memorable, transformative, and somehow, amazingly, this skinny chef manages to feeds your soul.