For more than a few transplanted Yankees living in Nashville, The Sopranos wasn’t just about mobsters getting whacked or the occasional T&A—it was every bit as much about the food. If you moved here from any major Northeastern metropolis, you probably mourn the dearth of authentic Italian cuisine. Whether Tony was reaching for the “gabbagoo” in the fridge, or Carmela and her girlfriends were lunching at Vesuvio’s, or the boys were eating sausage and peppers in front of Satriale’s, it was easy for a Northerner to get nostalgic for South Philly, or Boston’s North End, or Providence’s Federal Hill, or New York’s (or Cleveland’s…or Baltimore’s…or Wilmington, Del.’s) Little Italy. While some folks argued about whether the show reinforced negative stereotypes and glorified violence, many Yanks of all stripes were salivating like Pavlov’s dogs at the sight of mounds of spaghetti and “gravy,” thin-crust pizzas and pasta fagioli.
If Tony Soprano were living in Nashville, he’d be hanging out at Savarino’s Cucina instead of Satriale’s. Run by Corrado Savarino, the Italian bakery/deli/restaurant has become a popular gathering spot for Italian Americans, Italophiles and other displaced Northerners longing for the home cooking and warm neighborhood feel of their favorite haunts across the Mason-Dixon line.
Corrado’s wife Maria does much of the cooking, his father Pietro helps out in the kitchen and his daughter Francesca and son Carmelo often man the register, so Savarino’s is a family affair. (Not that kind of family, folks—stop watching so much TV.) Corrado doesn’t flinch at the suggestion that Tony, Paulie and Silvio might frequent his shop, and says he grew up around some wiseguys in Brooklyn’s Bensonhurst neighborhood. But lest there be any confusion, Corrado is a proud and patriotic American who served in the Army Airborne division. And his brother works for the Davidson County Sheriff’s Office. Oh, and Corrado’s grandfather, for whom he’s named, was a sheriff himself—in Sicily, mind you.
Corrado, too, was born in Sicily (his family emigrated to Brooklyn when he was 9) and spent 10 years baking at Veniero’s Pasticceria, one of New York’s (and North America’s) preeminent Italian bakeries, so he knows a thing or two about Italian pastries. He brought his family to Nashville in 2001 at the suggestion of his uncle and opened a bakery on Nolensville Road near Old Hickory Boulevard. The location wasn’t great, and after three years, he threw in the apron and dedicated himself to baking for wholesale buyers. But during his stint on Nolensville, he developed a small but loyal following who continued to hound him about opening a retail establishment. So in November 2006, Savarino’s Cucina was born.
Though baking is Savarino’s, um, bread and butter (dough!) (d’oh!), the eatery features some of the best (and most authentic) Italian food Nashville has to offer. Many of the items are prepared ahead of time and displayed in a refrigerated deli case, which offers one nice advantage—you can just see what looks good, point and say, “gimme some o’ dat.” The case usually features a couple of chicken dishes, pastas, a meat item or two and assorted sides, and the selection can vary from day to day.
Savarino’s stuffed pepper is one of Nashville’s more sublime gustatory pleasures. If stuffed peppers conjure up unpleasant memories of your high school cafeteria, leave that aversion behind and take a leap of faith. The roasted, lightly charred red pepper filled with a creamy risotto flecked with beef and herbs is a wonderfully subtle marriage of flavors, and has become a favorite of the Scene editorial staff. Though it’s on the appetizer menu, it can be a meal in itself, particularly with a house salad or some caponata. The savory caponata—a mixture of eggplant, carrots, celery, olives and capers—is, like the peppers, another example of a flavor being far more than the sum of its parts. The only disappointment on the app menu was the stuffed artichoke, which was a little dry.
Attention Italian meat fans: pass by Nashville’s myriad sub shops and head directly for Savarino’s Ed Pontieri sandwich. Named for a frequent customer, the Pontieri features mortadella, hot sopressata, hot capicola (the aforementioned “gabbagoo”), hot cherry peppers, lettuce, tomato and bomba calabrese (hot sauce). One patron from the largely Italian town of Wilkes-Barre, Pa., swore it was the best Italian sub he’d had, and after a couple of bites, I had to agree. So many subs fall short right out of the gate because of inferior bread, but all of Corrado’s rolls are baked fresh from scratch, giving his entire sandwich selection a leg up on much of the competition. The prosciutto, sausage-and-pepper and meatball sandwiches are also terrific, and the Al Bunetta (breaded chicken cutlet, lettuce, tomatoes, roasted peppers and balsamic vinegar) is alleged to be fabulous, according to the sandwich’s namesake, who owns Oh Boy Records and manages singer-songwriter John Prine. (Pontieri, Bunetta and retired recording engineer Mike Figlio, who also has a signature sandwich, enjoy a good-natured rivalry about whose is best. Heck, if you’ve got an original idea—and a last name that ends in a vowel—you may have a featured sub on the menu someday too.) Another Savarino’s devotee is music exec Frank DiLeo, who played Tuddy Cicero in Goodfellas and who was a partner for 11 years in Robert De Niro’s world-renowned Tribeca Grill—so he obviously knows food.
The chicken Parmigiana sub was good, though the chicken itself was a tad dry. With much of the food prepared in advance and reheated, this is a potential hazard. We had a similar experience with the chicken Val D’Aosta entrée, though overall the dish was still satisfying. Other entrées we enjoyed included the steak Pizzaiola (a piece of steak pounded thin in a zesty sauce and served with rice) and the eggplant Parmigiana. Pizzas are also recommended—the chicken-and-broccoli-rabe pie we sampled was quite tasty, in large part because of the crust.
And desserts? Fuggedaboutit. Corrado is a baker extraordinaire, supplying bread and pastries to a number of Nashville restaurants. He’s got Italian cookies out the ying-yang, but our favorite desserts were the exceptional cannoli, a delightful sfogliatelle (order it warm, with an espresso) and a cream puff filled with zuppa inglese. And for a while this summer, Savarino’s superb gelato and Italian ices were the excuse for many a Scene editorial department recess. Sadly, the machine Corrado uses to make the frozen treats broke, and finding a repairman for the rare contraption is like finding a guy to fix your ’57 Studebaker. Hopefully it’ll be up and running again by next summer.
One thing any Savarino’s novice should know—don’t go if you’re in a hurry. First, it’s not a full-service restaurant, but more of a bakery and deli, where you’re welcome to sit down and eat. It’s almost like you’re sitting in a friend’s kitchen while he’s making you dinner. We’ve waited anywhere from 15 to 40 minutes for food, with the average wait during the lunch rush being about 25 minutes. Speed is not a priority, and Corrado is even considering putting up a sign saying something along the lines of, “If you don’t have a half-hour to wait, go to McDonald’s.” There’s no microwave in the kitchen, and they put a premium on fresh ingredients, even if it takes a little longer. With the exception of imported Italian specialties, nothing comes from a package—Corrado even makes his own breadcrumbs from scratch. He’s heard occasional complaints about the wait, but he’s not eager to change things in that regard. “If you want fast, go to a buffet,” he says straightforwardly. And as a frequent European traveler pointed out, that’s much more typical of the Italian dining experience.
So if you’re looking for a fine dining experience with table service tonight, or you’ve got an appointment in an hour, now might not be the time for Savarino’s. But if you’re in the mood to relax and enjoy some authentic, home-cooked Sicilian food like you used to get in Joisey or Philly or wherever the hell you’re from, stop by the cucina. And anyway, what’s your hurry? You some big shot or sumthin’?
