WHAT JOHN GILCHRIST ORDERS AT:

Big Sky BBQ Pit

there’s a special place in my heart for restaurants that, unlike those that make you wait until your entire party arrives, seat you and make you feel special. Cotto Italian Comfort Food (to use its full name) is just such a place. When my dinner date texted he’d be 10 minutes late for our reservation, I was not consigned to purgatory in the vestibule. Instead, I was led to a corner table. (The somewhat secluded spot was romantic, but my date was just an old friend. Still, the table proved to be an excellent place to gossip.) Within moments, Fabio, our server for the evening, was taking my drink order, asking if I wanted sparkling or spring water—complimentary, which I also appreciate— and calling me signora.

Cotto opened last spring, in the former Pie Cloud space on 10th Street N.W. Before that, it was Lava Dining, and before that a Vietnamese joint. I’d eaten at all these places, and they were all good, but it’s an awkward space off an awkward mall, with almost no parking. It’s the sort of location you forget about, unless you have an owner-chef like Giuseppe Di Gennaro, late of Il Sogno, Capo, and Borgo, at the helm.

So when you walk into the space, the whitewashed barn-wood walls, simple decor (wine list written on a blackboard wall, framed poster of Naples) and Fabio’s fabulous accent make you forget you are in a windowless restaurant off an awkward mall in Calgary. Outside, it was the first day of fall and things had turned suitably chilly; inside it was the sunny Mediterranean. I pretended it was still summer and ordered a glass of prosecco.

Finally, my tardy date arrived and we perused the menu. A basket of sliced focaccia was brought to the table (also complimentary) along with some whipped garlic butter. The menu—and Fabio—suggests that two can share a good light dinner by ordering one of the main dishes and adding three of the sides. The mains include a vegetarian pasta and a carbonara, veal, lamb chops, and, as expected of a restaurant with “comfort food” in its name, pappardelle and meatballs. We went with the evening’s pasta special: linguine with shrimp, zucchini, garlic and saffron—flavours that combined to make a briny sauce as heady as Fabio’s voice, $20. Adding three sides to a main dish costs $12 (otherwise, sides are $6 each); we chose the sweetand-sour vegetable caponata, the broccoli aglio olio and peperoncino with toasted almonds (it was cooked perfectly al dente) and the potato fries, with sea salt, garlic, rosemary and pickled peperoncini. Fabio had helped us make excellent choices. It’s hard not to order dessert in an Italian restaurant, particularly when the desserts are made inhouse. We hemmed and hawed over the panna cotta, $8.50, and the lemon cannoli sorrentina, $9, but went with a palate-cleansing, slightly tart, raspberry-and-Campari sorbetto, $3. My friend had a double espresso, and by dinner’s end was speaking with a bit of an Italian accent. Even more amazing is that the cost of our entire dinner—we didn’t drink much—was a mere $50 before tip. At first we thought there was a mistake on the cheque. My pal and I have already made plans to return with our significant others. With comfort-food season approaching, you should, too.