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Count blessings, not calories, at Del Vecchio's

Del Vecchio's Italian Fishery appears to be run by a mythic race of men who are just, well, larger than the rest of us. They're the guys whose ancestors clambered up and down beanstalks reaching to the sky; who, like a certain Philistine felled by a sling shot, measured "six cubits and a span." Where they walk, crystal wine glasses tremble; silver flatware shudders. And they've collectively amassed, as if to fill all the extra space between their ears, a prodigious knowledge of homemade, New York- and Napoli-style Italian food.

"We went through five recipes for clams oreganato until we found the one we liked," Lou Del Vecchio says. The good and gentle Del Vecchio looms over our table, encouraging our appetites. He's the man responsible for putting stuffed baked jumbo artichokes on the menu ($10.50), a food we'd almost forgotten existed, one we hadn't tasted since our grandmothers — may their sainted souls rest in peace — used to make them. A stuffed artichoke requires the kind of patience old ladies used to have in spades, because you have to mash the bread-crumb/garlic/parsley/Romano cheese stuffing between every frigging leaf by hand. Then you carefully balance those suckers in a tray and steam them for, like, an hour. Needless to say, not too many restaurants want to bother with this kind of shenanigan on a busy Friday night.

Del Vecchio has also given star treatment to his great, great grandmother's recipe for Sunday sauce — serving her righteous combo of rigatoni, slow-cooked sausage, pork, and meatballs in tomato sauce. This is Del Vecchio's first restaurant venture — he's from New York; his wife, Belinda, is a Floridian — and they've teamed up with at least one local pro: Chef Luciano Balzano, who came to Florida from Naples in 1985 and has since manned the stoves at Il Tartuffo, the Addison, and Il Mulino.

Joe Rocco

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Del Vecchio's Italian Fishery

246 S. Powerline
Deerfield Beach, FL 33442

Category: Restaurant > Seafood

Region: Deerfield Beach

Details

Del Vecchio's Italian Fishery, 246 S. Powerline Rd., Deerfield Beach. Open for lunch 11:30 a.m. till 2:30 p.m. Monday through Friday, dinner 4 till 10 p.m. Sunday through Thursday, till 11 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Call 954-571-9700.

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You'll recognize the space: It's where the old Hobo's Fish Joint used to be, in its second incarnation. Hobo's chef/owner Steve LaBiner was supposed to act as a "consulting chef" at Del Vecchio's, but he apparently pulled out of the deal three days before their grand opening. Which doesn't really surprise anybody. Chef LaBiner has had his ups and downs over the years. There's no point in rehashing them here (if you're interested, Google "LaBiner" + "loan sharking"). Except to say that, given LaBiner's history, a sort of 21st-century version of Vanity Fair, with big Steve running through credit and investors with all the enthusiasm of Becky Sharp, the phrase "Things didn't work out" isn't exactly a new refrain.

Nearly everything — from the cloud-painted ceiling to the slightly dowdy upholstery to the flat-screen over the bar scrolling through nightly specials — is as LaBiner left it, though now there's a pretty patio out front with umbrellas, and a tiny, screened-in room that holds just six tables and feels very intimate. Balzano and Del Vecchio may have been left holding the sausage when LaBiner scampered off, but it seems to me they're dealing with it fairly gracefully. Del Vecchio's hasn't entirely hit its stride in the short month it's been open, but because Lou is such a good-natured guy and so obviously cares, I'm holding out hope.

They're purveying a strangely old-fashioned aesthetic. The food is heavy — even the dishes you expect not to be, like a polpete appetizer ($10.50, octopus grilled, set on a gigantic, buttery biscuit, and doused in tomato sauce). Anybody on a diet, anybody averse to oil (or salt or sugar), anybody who wants her dinner served in exquisite little portions with rainbow-hued squiggles of tangerine-mango-emulsion, is not going to be happy here. You look at these guys, with their 6-foot-plus frames, their girths the size of a wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano, and realize that they've simply collected their all-time favorite dishes. They serve them with the implicit directive of mamas everywhere: "Eat. Eat."

"In Naples, we love our fish," Balzano told me by phone. "And we bring the fish whole to the table, because in Italy, nobody wants you to touch their seafood. So I learned how to braise; I learned how to cook from the time I was crawling around on the floor of restaurant kitchens when I was a baby in Torre del Greco." Balzano contributes his family recipe for osso buco ($44.50, with risotto, served Thursday through Saturday) and his mom's olive-oil focaccia, sprinkled with slivers of fried onion (free, in the bread basket), and a slew of fresh seafood specials. There's a daily risotto and a featured pasta. The lunch menu offers "New York Style Seafood: Straight From Mott Street in Little Italy," a choice of soft-shell crab, shrimp, calamari, squid, or shrimp balls over an Italian biscuit with tomato sauce in mild, medium, or hot ($15). There's a classic meatball sub ($9.50) and an Italian Feast ($9.50) that involves a mess of slow-cooked pork, beef, and veal on ciabatta with more of the ubiquitous, hearty tomato sauce.

In their fifth and final iteration, the clams oreganato ($10.50) are delicious, but they're so loaded with baked, buttery bread crumbs that you can hardly find the little clam — you know it's there; you can feel it, like a pea under a mattress. A gargantuan stuffed artichoke is tasty, but it's not particularly pretty to begin with, and it's positively distressing once you've had your way with it, as if an artichoke balloon had exploded a foot above your table. Ditto the polpete. God knows I'm not finicky, and I'll put just about anything in my mouth, but these six-inch-long tentacles would be a lot more appetizing cut into bite-sized pieces, no matter how good they taste. There's something about Del Vecchio's that makes you think of hungry bachelors, of guys gathered for a Sunday game over piles of chicken wings, men who love to eat but aren't particularly picky about presentation. The place really needs a touch of finesse.

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