On Gulf Boulevard, within earshot of the gulf, Domenic's Capri is lost in a veritable whitewater of T-shirt and swimwear shops, souvenir hawkers and vacation hotels. But once you find the semicircular doorway that shelters its dark, quiet interior, it's easy to settle into its familial friendliness.
Owner, Chef Domenico Forlini, comes from the Marche region of North Central Italy. Wearing an apron, he frequently presides at one table or another, joking with customers who are obviously regulars.
A number of diners he knows by name and others he clearly recognizes. People who come in the front door tend to know their way around the small quarters, so we can assume they've been at Domenic's before. Some have enjoyed the same table for all 23 years of the restaurant's existence.
This is not to say that tourists don't find their way in too. Some may find it accidentally while they're strolling. Others might have heard of it from friends or relatives. What they've probably heard is that it's a sublime Italian restaurant hidden among the flotsam of Clearwater Beach, with predictably excellent fare and service, and a wine list so complete, it's been honored by i>Wine Spectator/i> magazine every year since 1994.
I have patronized Domenic's Capri occasionally for at least a decade; its fare rates with foodies. On my most recent visit, I sipped a glass of wine and peeked at the dining room, unobserved. It was clean in simple, white-clothed tables and wooden booths, which provide an unusual privacy. Small white vases with real carnations perfumed each table. Its dark woodwork and paint provide cool respite from the brilliant sun.
Once my companion arrived, we must have spent 20 minutes debating a list of 12 delectable-sounding appetizers. The waiter came and went. We vacillated. He inquired again, and this time, we finally selected the appetizer special ($7.50 for one, $15 for two), a combination platter of portobello mushrooms sautéed in butter, wine and garlic; grilled red peppers, dabs of fresh mozzarella, and fresh spinach sautéed in olive oil and garlic.
Lovely rounds of bread, a slab of unsalted butter and small bowl of olive oil floating herbs gave us plenty to chew on while we talked, guzzling a fragrant Chianti Classico 1997 Riserva ($7.50 per glass) and a Sangiovese ($10 per glass). Pairing the mozzarella with Domenic's fabulous handmade bread — earthy crust taut and cottony interior — we could have stopped right there and been perfectly happy: "My bread doesn't last very long, only a day or two, because it doesn't have any preservatives or anything in it," the chef explained.
My guest and I ate slowly, savoring. We chatted for a long time, dawdled over the menu. The waiter flashed past, always a presence but clearly avoiding the role of disciplinarian — he was not there to hurry us; he just wanted to make sure we had whatever we needed.
Two more glasses of wine appeared on the table, setting off another round of delay and procrastination.
When we finally finished the appetizers, and the plates were cleared away, the soup and salad came almost immediately, as if they had been perched upon a table in the kitchen, awaiting us (maybe they were; every entrée comes with soup or salad). Mine was a careful assortment of greens, dewy in the homemade creamy Italian house dressing; my cohort gulped down her soup of the day, a stracciatella soup, or Italian egg drop soup. Its delicate chicken broth with egg white and Parmesan cheese was deceptively filling.
Timewise, we did better with the soup and salad. It just took 20 minutes to finish them.
Over the years, I have enjoyed a number of addictive dishes glamorized by Domenic's handmade pasta. My favorite is fettuccine carbonara ($13.75), a giant platter of tender fettuccine, dotted with bacon and onion, and silken with creamy, spicy sauce made with heavy cream and cheese.
But I thought it my duty to choose something else, for reviewing purposes, so I resisted my fave and chose instead a dish offered that night as a special, a black fettuccine ($18.50), its characteristic color accomplished with squid ink. The dish evinced a careful culinary diligence in look and flavor. The black pasta contrasted beautifully with the fat white scallops in a perfectly balanced sauce of onions, garlic, spices, white wine and cream.
My dining companion ordered chicken Marsala ($16.75). She took a big sniff as the heavy platter crossed the table, burdened with moist chicken breast, tender in its elegant river of wine sauce, and set with domestic and wild mushrooms. After a single bite, she pronounced it excellent, which I considered a true compliment for the chef, because her parents were born in Italy, and she knows primo Italian fare when she tastes it.
We took our time over the main course, but finally the hefty hillocks of food grew smaller. Wine gone and water glasses at half-mast, we finally stopped. We were so stuffed, we could hardly even burp comfortably. The waiter appeared again like an apparition, to remove dirty plates.
He vanished but returned to offer dessert — tiramisu, chocolate-chocolate cake, cheesecake, chocolate mousse. We knew they all would be delightful, but this time, the choice of so many goodies didn't seem to have the same paralytic effect as it had with the appetizers.
With a fine cup of cappuccino ($3.50) already at my elbow, I chose chocolate cake ($4.50), while my companion drank espresso ($2.75) paired with tiramisu ($4.50). Her dessert was my favorite, with a delicate coffee flavor and a texture so ethereal; but both desserts displayed the light, deft touch of a master chef.
Once they sat before us, they went down in a jiffy. Five minutes, max.
For the first time all evening, we were smugly just a smidgen ahead of our surprised server. We were bursting our clothes as we waddled out, but we remembered why this place is considered by locals to be one of the city's hidden treasures.
i>Contact food critic Sara Kennedy at sara.kennedy@weeklyplanet.com or call 813-248-8888, ext. 116./i>
This article appears in Mar 26 – Apr 1, 2003.