CAPO is nothing if not discreet. The little restaurant is housed in a modest one-story building with no visible sign, improbably tucked among the sleek high-rise hotels on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica.
As I wait out front one night for the friend who insists he can find any place, I watch him drive by, twice, as one luxurious ride after another pulls up in front. Now in its fourth year, Capo functions more or less as the clubhouse for an affluent Westside crowd. Some have been eating the food of chef/owner Bruce Marder's since the early '80s at the West Beach Cafe, the long gone Venice hot spot that was the first serious contemporary restaurant by the beach.
Capo, which can be translated as "chief" or "chef" in Italian, has only 16 tables. It is not open for lunch and serves dinner just five nights a week (which may have something to do with the breathtaking prices). But this chic boite fills a niche. It's unlike anything else in town, not so much Italian as California cooking with an Italian inflection.
As always, Marder creates an enticing art-directed atmosphere. Capo exudes a comfortable old money aesthetic that perfectly suits its arts and entertainment industry clientele. It looks as lived in as a fine old Florentine trattoria, as if the walls have accumulated their cache of good small paintings, an erotic Picasso or two, over a period of years.
In the tiny vestibule, one placard admonishes no cell phones please, and another is inscribed with a snail that indicates the restaurant is a member of Slow Food, the Italian organization dedicated to preserving traditional food ways. When you pull back the heavy red velvet curtain and enter the restaurant, it's like stepping into an elegant speakeasy. Immediately, the maitre d' or hostess is there, so vigilant you feel as if you're going to be asked for identity card any minute.
Vintage Italian and French tunes play on the music system. The lighting is subtle and flattering. Along the walls, votive candles flicker in the salt breeze every time someone comes in the door. Oil lamps light the tables, and vases of startling red roses flame in the shadows. In the far corner, a cook, often Marder himself, grills meats in the fireplace. The room is fragrant with wood smoke and suddenly you're incredibly hungry.
Fortunately, that's just when the oval blond basket of bread arrives. I find it hard to resist the crackling golden sheets of house-baked flatbread slicked with olive oil and perfumed rosemary. Skinny twists of grissini disappear quickly too.
The menu set in a beautiful, clear typeface is like a small chapbook with pages to turn. On the left, a page of specials of the day is tipped in. It's a bit confusing the way pastas are listed as either pasta fresca (fresh stuffed pasta) or pasta di Capo (made from imported durum wheat pasta). From the prices, too, it's hard to tell which are the appetizers, which are the main courses. But then you study the menu for a while and realize that the prices of the appetizers here are what main courses cost at most other places around town.
You could order two appetizers as dinner, and I suspect many people do. And if you're having trouble deciding, Marder might suggest a half-order of two or more dishes.
It's a pleasure and a terror to troll through the terrific wine list. While the wine savvy can turn up a handful of well-priced bottles, most are obscenely overpriced. For that, at least you get good glassware and crisp, professional wine service from waiters who know how to pour. The devil is in the details: When we ask if the water is filtered, we're told the ice cubes are filtered too.
Lately, to start off things on a festive note, Marder has been offering a miniature poppyseed cone crowned with a dab of mascarpone and diced heirloom tomatoes. Borrowing an idea from the French Laundry's Thomas Keller, it's served from an acrylic slab with holes drilled into it. It's a cute trick, but by the third time around, it's getting boring. I wonder why he never varies it.
Antipasti run from classic Italian, such as a milky, tender burrata cheese and heirloom tomatoes, to a quite credible and delicious tuna tartare. Made with bluefin tuna tossed in a refreshing light dressing, it comes in a glass bowl, topped with caviar and snipped chives. Porcini mushroom soup tastes of these glorious mushrooms undiluted with cream. Garnished with limpid drops of olive oil and a few chunks of silky mushroom, the puree has complexity and depth. Eggplant "Rocca Reggiano" is a restrained version of the southern Italian dish, easy on the tomato sauce and using top-notch Parmigiano.