Small Bites

Flavor: Creative Italian
Ambiance: Cool class that wouldn’t be out of place on a Manhattan side street

Modesto’s owner/chef Hector Diaz at the restaurant’s wood-fired oven. photos by Jodi Ford

There’s a whole lot of erratic underlining on Modesto’s dinner menu.

The resultant herky-jerky effect is something like the experience of eating at Modesto, a paean to Italian cuisine from famed Asheville chef Hector Diaz. While the Grove Arcade restaurant is turning out some sumptuous dishes, the place is still plagued by a few unfortunate glitches that should have been fixed after a full season in business. The menu editor’s penchant for random underlining seems to have pervaded the entire restaurant, which — even with Diaz now picking up shifts in the kitchen — seems uncertain about its emphasis.

Diaz became a culinary hero by opening Salsa, the much-beloved downtown cafe that specializes in a fusion style best described as Caribbean Crazy. The Mexican-influenced menu there has goat cheese jamming with pineapples and beets sidling up to mangos. A bit of that daring migrated the four blocks west to Modesto — a superlative pizza proves butternut squash, duck confit and goat cheese should never stray from each other’s company — but the kitchen isn’t always brave enough to complete the vision.

Modesto’s signature salad features whole hearts of romaine dressed with a mustardy Caesar. It’s served in a shareable portion that our server assured us would be enough for three people, an amicable suggestion that became a plea after he realized how much we planned to order (one of the great joys of restaurant reviewing is risking being cut off by the waiter).

All portions were ample, but — in the case of the salad — our interest ran out before our appetites did. The bland dressing did little to perk up the watery lettuce leaves. Yet the evidence that the kitchen knew exactly what the pedestrian salad needed lay right on the plate: The lettuce was speckled with tiny studs of sweet dates. A perfectly loaded fork of Caesar-saturated lettuce and two or three carefully captured dates yielded a revelatory flavor: Had the cook showed enough confidence to shower the salad in the ancient fruit, we would have cleaned the plate.

Apparently unsure whether its allegiance belongs to tradition or innovation, the kitchen again got skittish with dessert. Twin pots of espresso crema were well paired with pralined walnuts, which were scattered alongside the gently bruleed coffee custard. But it was left to the diner to do the heavy lifting, determining just the right proportion of crema to nuts. The presentation only hinted at a smart flavor combination rather than boldly announcing it.

Other flavors would have been better muted, like the sweetness that marred the stuffed grape-leaf appetizer. The leaves were pumped full of risotto, currants, pine nuts and mint. The risotto was noticeably undercooked, making the currant-heavy concoction taste more like an energy-packed granola bar than a tribute to a Mediterranean classic. The dish was strangely garnished with two fat tomato wedges that could have been swiped from a second-tier salad bar, a low-budget element that echoed the plodding inelegance of the boutonniere-ready carnations perched on each table.

A cranberry bean-and-pancetta soup also succeeded in keeping our expectations low, although it was served in a whimsical footed tureen that made spoon sloshing more fun. If Modesto’s menu were representative of a Mediterranean potluck, this beefy soup would be the local peasant’s contribution. The rustic dish was warming, but its oily sheen and overplayed flavors weren’t particularly endearing.

Our very accommodating server whisked away our first-course plates and silverware before the entrees arrived, explaining that the meal would be served in courses. This seemed akin to declaring the food would arrive on plates, but on an early visit to Modesto, our appetizers arrived well after our entrees, so perhaps the new dedication to diner-centric timing isn’t something to scoff at.

Modesto seems committed to providing good service — our white-silk-tied server was attentive and cheerful — but its rendition of white-tablecloth serving standards was sometimes clunky. Replacing the silverware after each course is a nice touch: Reaching across the table for soiled knives and explaining the practice comes off as declasse.

But our server had already won us over by greeting us with a conspiratorial “Do you like red wine?” and following up by delivering a sample of an off-the-list primitivo puglia to our table. The wine was a terrific match for our food, as was a full-bodied Barolo selected from the well-chosen menu of Italian wines.