Gourmet fare at Del Arte restaurant

Just when you think Taman Anggrek Mall has reached saturation point, Del Arte restaurant, located on the 4th floor, muscles its way in like an elected prima donna.

Go figure: here is a mega mall boasting some 50 restaurants and 21 food stalls, most of them standard-bearers with a capital S.

And yet, in its second month as the New Kid on the Block, this new Italian restaurant already blazes forth like a star, making a rule out of simplicity and perfection.

Sitting by the sprawling glass window is an exercise in cross- civilizations.

Inside is a warm, cozy, well-proportioned dining room in blended peach and salmon; outside is a maze of gray industrial highways.

Multi-colored balloons and bright green rattan look pretty against the facade's brick arcade windows.

Burnished terracotta meets countrified ambience. Small touches, like olive oil in a chili bottle, force a smile from your lips.

Soon, friendly and knowledgeable waiters hand us a pizza- shaped menu with more smiles, adding to the buoyant mood. We scan it and emit a few gasps of "Ooh, aah".

The food selections are no innovative hotbeds, but prudently traditional and well-selected. Red and white wine are available by the bottle or by the glass, but there doesn't appear to be a wine list.

Thin-crust pizza buffs are in for most of the fun, with 11 mouth-watering flavors and three variations of stuffed pizzas to choose from.

If the waiter's public relations pitch is anything to go by, expect the dough to be freshly-flown from France.

We finally make our choices, while wishing we could make several instead of one. We have no expectations, just an appetite that kind of gravitates toward the food court on the same story.

But Del Arte is not about to let us forget our first dining experience there. And we are stumped, through and through.

Never again will we be so obnoxiously blase.

The Fritto Misto that stares up at Epicurus is not the usual oil tanker in need of an oil slick. Lean slivers of fried calamari sit atop a bed of salad rather than the more normal served on its own and brimming in fat.

The multi-colored lettuce is wonderfully fresh and untarnished by insensitive hands, the only luxury permitted being the very fine olive oil sitting at our table.

Mediterranean

This is fritto misto as you would find in the sultry Mediterranean, not in pretentious 90s-style eateries offering ambitiously nouvelle renderings of Italian cuisine.

Epicurus' companion, whose love affair with seafood practically defines his existence, declares his spicy seafood soup (Zuppa Portofino) out of this world.

"The broth reeks not only of seafood," he enthuses, "but lobster. Fresh, fat, juicy lobster."

He gushes on, "The secrets of the universe can all be found in this soup." Say what?

But it only gets better, a peach trapezium-shaped plate arrives bearing Pollo alla Griglia, a stunning main course of grilled chicken in honey shallot sauce.

I pinch myself for a reality check, momentarily thinking that I am in some French bistro. Indeed, the dish's impressionistic presentation bespeaks a chef well-schooled in the art of gourmet cooking.

The chicken in question, grilled to perfection, rests over a tri-color julienne of delicately sliced vegetables sauteed in garlic.

A criss-cross of red paprika, yellow paprika and green paprika looks even more tantalizing against the calming, mother-nature qualities of peach.

To the north of the chicken lies a row of fresh broccoli, and another row of crunchy golden potato coquettes, so tasty they deserve a space at Kemchick's entrance.

But what really impresses is the honey shallot sauce, a triumph of tart sweetness sharpened by the best sauce of all, glorious red wine.

Do these gorgeous surprises ever stop? Not a chance. After a few bites into his Seafood Spaghetti, I see in my companion's eyes the usual tell-tale signs of supreme contentment.

"More seafood," he sighs, his eyes rolling like Bacchus after an orgy, "Perfect taste, perfect consistency, perfect seafood."

He likes it so much it seems a crime it isn't available for takeaway.

So, soup is perfect. Appetizer is perfect. Two main courses are perfect.

Everything that arrives at our table is as perfect as mania can make it. Is it realistic to expect a perfect desert?

Thanks to the waiter's discerning judgment, it apparently is.

Tirame-Lo may sound quirkily nouvelle, a new fruity take on the ubiquitous Tiramisu. It turns out so good, however, that perfection suddenly becomes a cliched word.

The surface looks so sublimely creamy, it almost looks like puree, like zabaglione even.

It must be made with whipped cream so dense blenders must burn out from making it. And then there is that heavenly three-tiered taste, at the bottom is a sponge cake so deliciously soaked in sweet liquor that our eyes roll left, right and center.

The middle layer, where small chunks of stewed apples are nestled, is like mayonnaise to a Whopper: Fun, sassy, wicked.

When the cappuccino arrives a tad too strong (and the whipped cream too light), Epicurus is all too happy to acknowledge that all-round perfection is hard to attain, even for one Del Arte.

But, at a mere Rp 81,000 for a glorious three course meal, it comes dangerously close.

-- Epicurus