Among the bistro’s excellent specials is saddle of rabbit wrapped in bacon.
Calliope, a sweet new East Village bistro, is just what the dining scene needed — a refreshing palate-cleanser after a summer bilge of $35 swordfish and farm-to-table, nose-to-tail overkill.
Curious first-timers go in with modest expectations and come out smiling. The owners, chef Eric Korsh and his wife, Ginevra Iverson, love what they do. They also work their butts off. The house’s intimate vibe gives you a whiff of sweat even on less-than-sweltering nights.
The cooking’s traditional-French-inspired, but Calliope is no old-fashioned bistro, it’s a modern old-fashioned bistro. Sure, there are tete du porc (pig head) and beef tongue with sauce gribiche. But you might also find cold Jersey tomato soup and harissa-marinated bluefish — a now-running species at its freshness peak.
Family warmth oozes through the atmospheric dining room and a sidewalk patio — “I’m afraid our Pouilly-Fumé is not with us tonight,” the waitress laments over the wine, and you can only love her.
Calliope replaced Belcourt, a failed bistro on a once rough corner in a downtown arrondissement that now sees many more preening boulevardiers than bums. (One or two of the latter drift by every so often for old time’s sake.) The tile floor and coffered ceiling’s hard edges are softened by pastel blue trim framing gently arched windows on two sides.
Distressed mirrors lend romance; deco sconces and tiny candles add precious little illumination to read the menu. What would diners do these nights without iPhone flashlights?
Both the kitchen and the floor crew have firmed up their games since a wobbly opening. Korsh, who worked at Picholine and the Waverly Inn, among others, brightens even archaic-sounding dishes. His beef tongue is anything but an old warhorse. The beef’s paper-thin, the egg-based gribiche light on the tongue, all prettily decorated with a grove of mache lettuce.
Hot and sour braised lamb neck, an unself-conscious fusion triumph, quietly sizzled in pepper sauce made from Sicilian and Calabrian chiles milder than the dish’s Szechuanese inspiration. Korsh also likes to use pepper almost with a muted Spanish touch — Romesco sauced-ciabatta toast underlay black bass and halibut, both perfectly cooked.
Nightly specials are worth exploring. Saddle of rabbit came as a trio of generous, bacon-wrapped rounds punctuated with carrots and leeks as if in a terrine, atop a plateful of Puy lentils. “The meat’s from the loin and flank,” the waitress cheerfully announced. She illustrated by pointing with a smile to certain parts of her own that did not correspond to those of the lapin.
Calliope’s no groundbreaker, but it can be a back-breaker. Chairs are hard, seating cramped. And not every dish was wonderful. Provencal tomato tart, a house pride, emerged soggy and composed mainly of peppers. Swiss chard dumplings they call “malfatti” were dull and doughy, and octopus salad as ordinary as can be.
But everything’s reasonably priced (starters are $7 to $14, most entrees $19 to $27) — including a short, mostly French wine list which proves that lesser-known choices needn’t be of interest only to scholars.
“Bargain” applies as well to $9 desserts, the most impressive of which was seriously good baba au rhum — just the thing for the intoxicating Second Avenue night.