Sublime Citrus

Photos by Donna Campbell

I usually try to write here about trends in edible culture rather than specific restaurants. But today I had the best meal ever at Mercato Pizzeria in Carrboro, North Carolina. It’s our neighborhood go-to for early Sunday lunch before the crowds fill the place and raise the ambient volume. This is a fine restaurant that, when you think about it, is set up more like a Waffle House than an elegant dining establishment. It’s housed on a concrete slab in a brick building that once sold swimming pool supplies. You can watch everything being made. But the food is incomparable.

Food Pilgrim has written before about the young chef/owner/founder, Gabe Barker. He is the son of two James Beard award winners, and his sense of flavors--how to combine them without letting any one dominate—is purely sensational. Mercato’s pizza is as good as it gets. But today we went off-pie, to try a new, seasonal menu option.

Winter Citrus Salad with walnuts and pomegranite seeds.

We started with the Winter Citrus Salad. It came to the table as a heaping mound of arugula, shaved fennel, a generous handful of toasted English walnuts for crunch, deep red pomegranate seeds for color, and a sly mint leaf or two. This melange was topped with eighth-inch-thick rounds of blood orange, navel orange, and pink grapefruit—all supremed and skillfully tossed with Gabe’s signature vinaigrette. Each citrus added a distinct flavor. As I learned long ago in the North Georgia mountains at the breakfast table of a fine country cook, a good dash of salt will always make a grapefruit sweeter. (Gabe’s southern grandmother seemed to be present in this recipe.)

For the main course we ordered the Baked Cannelloni, three pasta tubes fire roasted and served steaming hot in a small iron skillet, dressed, not smothered, with Gabe’s Arrabbiata sauce—a standard pizza topping that’s made here with California tomatoes, olive oil, a gentle garlic, and in this case, Calabrian chiles.  The secret, I believe, is in the hand—adding just the right splash of chili flakes to guarantee a slight burn that surprises but is immediately cooled by the smooth ricotta hiding inside the homemade pasta wrap. 

Gabe has also brought braised chicken to these little Italian enchiladas, but not so much that the meat oozed out when I cut into the roll. In fact, I had forgotten that chicken was in the menu description. It added heft and a bit of relief from the intensity of the other flavors.

Gabe Barker and his team (left) The chicken tucked into the cannelloni (right).

The braised bird was so cleverly tucked into the roll of pasta and topped by a chive and abundant lemon zest gremolata, that the overall blend became a series of cascading tastes. Think lemon chicken with a hint of sweetness in the ricotta. Then a taste of pure tomato and bubbly cheese. Some bites were like dessert—teasingly sweet but kept in check by the savory chives and chili. This brilliant mix was all about proportion, the tastes taking their turns with each bite.

We were told today was the first time this dish had been on the menu, and we were the first table to order it at lunch. To say we were delighted is an understatement.  My brother declared that he was sure he had survived for 80 years because he was meant to savor this dish. He was ebullient.We were all so high from the flavors that we splurged and ordered dessert. 

Here Gabe’s grandmother was also in our midst. The vanilla buttermilk panna cotta—served with a little more decoration of yellow and orange from the seasonal citrus and surrounded by a thin thread of liquid caramel and topped with a red gelatin cap—was also sprinkled with crumbles from Gabe’s famous butter cookies. In the season of Girl Scout cookies, this dessert deserved more merit badges than would fit on any sash.

Okay, Food Pilgrim readers, here’s the confession. We went back to order the same dish for dinner tonight so we could take pictures of it for you. The lunch was so good we had fallen off duty and forgot to document the experience.

Sneaking back in the restaurant for an early supper at the bar, we endured the jovial chides of waitstaff asking us if we had forgotten where we had lunch. Even Gabe gave us a gentle ribbing, then confessed that he had been inspired by a local Mexican joint where the enchiladas seemed like something he should translate into Italian.

He succeeded.