Smassey wrote:Bumping this thread to report a very satisfying meal tonight, and hoping to motivate people to (re?)gain interest and support this neighborhood gem.
I'm sorry I didn't get around to posting in August, when I visited, as I do agree with Smassey that Due Lire is a restaurant that I enjoy ever time I visit. Unfortunately, since I now live in St. Louis, that is not often enough, however, my daughter and I were delighted to arrive early enough to gain a table on the patio. I had no idea that Due Lire had a patio in the back. To my mind, this is far superior to a seat on the sidewalk, especially now that Lincoln Square has become crowded on summer evenings.
One of the things that draws me back to Due Lire is their hot, crisp, greaseless, tender, perfectly seasoned fried calamari. It recalls to me the first few times I had calamari in Seville in the 1970's:
Calamari Fritti @ Due Lire by
Josephine2004, on Flickr
I love that they fry paper-thin slices of lemon with the squid. The tentacles are a must for me, an indication that this is real calamari.
We enjoyed a nice bottle of Vermentino Toscana, which was a terrific bargain on this half-priced wine night. We also enjoyed a chat with the owner, who is charming in a genuine way, and eager to assure us about the gluten-free chops of the kitchen. I know that it can be a hassle for a kitchen to deal with this, but it's just wonderful to have the freedom to order a risotto and a pasta with mushrooms off the regular menu, and not to worry about what gluten-containing ingredients might have sneaked into the dish. The pasta was perfectly al dente, and the porcini base in the sauce eliminated any hint that this was not wheat pasta.
Gluten Free Pasta with Porcini by
Josephine2004, on Flickr
The seafood in my risotto was perfectly cooked. The rice was al dente, not mushy, clearly prepared to order, and there was no stinting on the saffron in the rice. Just a terrific dinner all around, at a reasonable price point.
Man : I can't understand how a poet like you can eat that stuff.
T. S. Eliot: Ah, but you're not a poet.