Losing Something in the Translation

You might think the last thing Beacon Hill needed was another club, but the crowds at the new Toscano prove otherwise. The Brahmins who adopted the original, modest Charles Street restaurant soon after it opened in 1983 have now been joined at its reincarnated version by an un-silent majority of the city's movers and shakers: pols from the State House and City Hall and the kind of businesspeople who flock to Grill 23 and Davio's.

The new clientele is more noteworthy than the new food. David D'Alessandro, late of John Hancock, didn't make his name as a Brahmin wannabe, but he bought the place anyway because he liked it and because his son, Andrew, is pursuing a career in restaurants. That they are keeping Toscano in the same space, with the same cooks—some of whom have worked there for decades—is a gift to the neighborhood. Along with a broader menu, father and son knew exactly what theyneeded to keep both the old guard and the younger, louder crowd coming in: an energy that says "power."

The lavish new décor says the same thing. Where there was exposed brick and little copper pans that looked as if they came from a Florentine souvenir shop, there is now dark chestnut-colored wood—lots of it. Where there were the rush-seat chairs of a simple trattoria, there are now solid, leather-covered ones. The opulent, masculine look still feels Italian, but in a way that evokes The Sopranos more than it does the old country.

And that's the main difference between the old Toscano and the new one. Vinicio Paoli, the longtime owner, was raised and trained in Tuscany. He was rough-hewn and blustery, and his food had overtones of the stodgy continental fare that was taught in the culinary schools of his era. But the basis of what he cooked and served was authentic Tuscan—food so plain that at the height of Todd English–style excess, it appeared boringly austere. (Hence its strong appeal to Brahmins.)

Although the cooks at the new Toscano are almost identical to the largely Central American brigade Paoli trained, the food seems, with few exceptions, to have lost the austerity and authenticity that distinguished Ristorante Toscano, as it used to be named, from every other Italian restaurant in town. Perhaps that's because without Paoli, Toscano has no executive chef: The cooks work under the management team of Andrew D'Alessandro and partner Richard Cacciagrani, and are supervised by kitchen manager Samuel Gomez. There's plenty of meat, much bigger portions, mashed potatoes everywhere, and a surprising number of sauces that include cream and butter—but nothing too fancy. (Hence its strong appeal to power brokers and pols.) With care, you can have a perfectly fine meal, and even taste some reminders of the old place. It's hard to get anything with much flavor, though, or anything with ideas and tastes that you'll remember the next day, or anything you couldn't get at a dozen restaurants in the North End, probably for less money.