Max Restaurant: Well Sauced but not Saucy
Max is the Lower East Side's best kept secret. Except that it's not a secret. The family-style Italian restaurant has only been around a decade or so, but it's practically a grandparent to the neighborhood. "We have seen through a cycle of regulars," says owner and chef Luigi Iasilli, "the block changes, but we're still here."
The homey restaurant is dimly lit, all softly burnished wood and exposed brick walls. It's the place where you can slurp up a bowl of fettucini without worrying about the red flecks of sauce accumulating on your shirt. Lady Gaga comes here frequently, comfortable enough with the quiet vibe not to arrive incognito. That's the beauty of Max: sneaker-and-backpack wearers flock here for the unbelievably low prices, rubbing shoulders with couteured professionals who have escaped to the LES for a glass of wine and a ball of milky fresh mozzarella.
And oh, what mozzarella. Shipped weekly from Italy, the buffalo milk cheese is tart and ricotta soft, so delicate that it surrenders itself to probing from your knife and bread crust alike. Equally wonderful is the Melanzane de Funghetto, an appetizer of eggplant fried until it becomes nutty and rich, silken slips in a bowl of thick tomato sauce. When asked how he transforms his eggplant into what is essentially eggplant candy, Iasilli remains demure. "I talk to them," he says.
The food at Max doesn't aim to ascend to the rocky peaks of culinary innovation. Luigi Iasilli has decamped at the base of the mountain, comfortable with churning out traditional southern Italian recipes while his peers gasp for oxygen on the quivering slopes of their basil lemon foams. Iasilli's gnocchi is pillow-soft, and his red sauce is fine, but uninspired. The lasagna is a version of your mother's Sunday night dinners--if your mother was well-versed in bechamel. Iasilli has a few of the old Italian tricks under his sleeve, and if he is indiscriminate in his use of wilted basil and dashes of nutmeg, it's because they work. Max's Fettuccine Al Sugo Toscano was a surprise favorite: a wine-and cream-infused meat sauce so luscious you'll want to pick out crumbles of beef from the langorous tangle of pasta.
Desserts at Max consist of the old standards: panna cotta, tiramisu, and a creme brulee that Iasilli swears has an Italian history as crema bruciata. However, I would favor a capuccino or a final glass of prosecco instead of any dessert, which are a bit too mild and thick for my taste. And honestly, if you've feasted with Iasilli, you won't want to look any plate in the eye for a long, long time. At least, until those leftovers beckon from the fridge several hours later.
— Written by Hannah Smith-Drelich
Photo credit: Hannah Smith-Drelich
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