Spuntino

Spuntino calls itself Italian, and mostly is, but the real signature is the collision at the edges: cavatelli sauced with chicken korma sitting on a menu otherwise built from bolognese and herbed butters. It shouldn't work as well as it does. The kitchen treats the Indian influence as a seasoning, not a gimmick, so the pasta reads as its own dish rather than a stunt plate, while staples like the brick chicken keep the menu anchored in something familiar and well-executed.

The wine list does as much work as the kitchen. Small-production bottles from places most diners haven't heard of turn the room into the kind of place where people linger over pairings instead of rushing through courses. That's the atmosphere here: loud, packed, unpretentious, built for people who actually care about what's in the glass and on the plate.

The trophy case backs up what the food argues on its own — repeat James Beard semifinalist nods across chef and pastry categories. That's not a fluke run. It's a kitchen that keeps finding new ways to make an odd premise taste inevitable. Go for the cavatelli. Stay for the wine list.