Detroit restaurant Alpino is a breath of fresh air

Ask anyone about their dining experience at Alpino, and you’ll notice a trend.

The response is pitchy. A resounding eyes-widened, head-tilted: “It’s actually really good,” echoes from person to person with an emphasis on “actually,” as if they’d collectively anticipated otherwise. As if they’d hoped to be underwhelmed.

The new Corktown restaurant, which opened in May, had big shoes to fill as successor of Lady of the House, the beloved, James Beard-nominated haunt helmed by darling chef Kate Williams.

With its Alpine cuisine and imagery of cattle adorned with cow bells and colorful flower crowns above the dining room’s historic stone fireplace, the new restaurant is a departure from the Irish roots Williams aimed to honor after inheriting the former Irish pub St. CeCe’s.

It’d be reasonable for Lady loyalists to be critical of Alpino, in the same way you might wish an incurable case of halitosis upon an ex’s attractive new love interest. Only that love interest showed up with fresh baked breads, hand-churned fondues and home-cooked meals made with an arousing amount of butter and inevitably won them over with her charm.

Alpino is a breath of fresh air.

At a time when Detroit-area restaurants have become increasingly performative, Alpino woos with its simplicity. Where other restaurants ooh and ah with cocktails topped with bubble baths, gelatos of giant proportions and dining rooms decorated with disco balls, here, minimal ingredients and concise recipes shine.

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A memorable cocktail on an early menu sums up the Alpino experience nicely. A blend of just four ingredients — grappa, Genepy, lime and pine syrup — the Dolomites embodied the same refreshing nature of the locale that inspires the place. The Alpine region is known for its meditative landscapes; snow-capped mountaintops and serene meadows where glassy lakes reflect clear blue skies. It made sense that before my lips even pressed against the coupe glass for a sip, the verdant scent of the grappa-based drink called to mind blades of grass speckled with water droplets and soil dampened by dew.

Each dish thereafter has evoked a similar sense of simplistic comfort.

On the charcuterie board, thin slices of pork and beef are ruffled like chiffon pocket squares with intricate marbling for a pattern. The longer the meat sits on the wooden plank, the more the delicate ribbons of fat begin to melt alongside snappy, pungent gherkins and slices of no-knead bread.

An herbaceous juniper honey vinaigrette sweetens up bitter radicchio and root vegetables in a chicory salad so tasty you’ll order it every visit. Shaved Comté and chopped pecans round out the dish for textures of velvet on the tongue and crunch between the teeth.

Small plates are big in concept and execution. A bowl of Valaisanne tomato soup, for example, challenges both the traditional tomato puree and the chilled gazpacho with a simple presentation of crushed tomatoes in a broth of sheer onions, herbs and flecks of cracked black pepper. With meaty hunks of the fruit suspended in the bowl, it’s as if Executive Chef Colin Campbell intends to highlight, not hide, the San Marzano tomatoes that give the soup its bright, sweet flavor. For elements of fat, a slick of olive oil glistens at the surface and shavings of Tête de Moine, like a blooming white carnation, melt into the center of the dish.

The Rosti is a menu highlight you will not want to share. During a recent visit, my husband and I fought over the last piece. We settled the argument by ordering another — I allowed him the final bite. A crispy cake of shredded potatoes about an inch thick, supports a crown of a tender smoked salmon filet and spicy mustard greens tossed in sweet pickled onions and slippery mustard seeds that pop in your mouth with every bite.

Though no dish is complex at Alpino, each entrée delivers bold flavors in the same way a whisper can land a powerful message. The message here: Less is more.

Diots au Vin Blanc, or sausage in white wine, follows a recipe that can be consolidated into a few easy steps: Grilled pork sausages simmer in a buttery medley of onions, minced garlic and wine are served up with fresh herbs, an onion broth and a smear of creamy mustard rouille are dotted with chopped chives for swiping slices of sausage. The bowl is equally light and filling.

A steak tagliata is the only steak dish I’ve finished in one sitting in recent memory, and one I will think of often. Six ounces of flank steak are sliced and fanned across a plate drizzled with vincotto, a rich, cooked wine whose sweet, umami tasting notes favor balsamic vinegar. The meat is cooked ideally with a gradient of rosy centers and charred edges, and you’ll pop soft cippolini onions the size of gumballs into your mouth with tears of fresh parsley or crisp, grilled chicory leaves.

As cuisines become convoluted — new American here, fusions there, multi-concepts everywhere — Alpino’s perspective is focused.

No dish strays from the traditions of the Alps and wines and spirits from the Alpine region dominate the beverage program. Where possible, ingredients are sourced from Michigan gardens, fisheries, dairy farms and cheese shops without abandoning the restaurant’s European flair.

That focus carries into the dining room, where wooden beams overhead and chopped wood behind the bar create the feel of a ski lodge in the French Alps. Soft lighting sets a cozy scene and a cowhide area rug underfoot grounds diners in the restaurant’s deep-rooted celebration of Alpine farm culture as you drink burly reds, sip Swiss aperitifs or melt chocolate fondue over an open fire.

Decadent desserts, like the Bonet, a chocolate custard that resembles the shadows of the rolling Alpine mountains with a dark, dense mound of row and moss chocolate and a dark chocolate crumble topper, nods to the Piedmont region of Italy. The sweet is so rich, you’ll take your time to savor it, possibly never making your way through it all.

There’s been a steady progression at Alpino. A small pot of fondue that blends buttery, melted Gruyère and Rahmtaler cheeses with white wine and brandy for a creamy, nutty emulsion with sweet and umami notes, was once reserved for Sundays. Now available daily, you’ll swipe its surface with hunks of bread and submerge crisp, tangy green apples and roasted potatoes into it every visit.

Previously a dinner-only venue, the restaurant now hosts events and welcomes blues, bluegrass, folk and Americana artists consistent with Alpino’s mountainous roots to a small stage tucked into a corner of the space and at an outdoor patio. In time for the holidays, performers will descend into a newly renovated basement level events space for future entertaining, and later this fall, the team will debut a brunch menu.

I can only speculate at what’s next for the restaurant’s longer-term plans, but so far, it’s as though Alpino has flung open a window, allowing a gust of air to freshen up a dining scene that as of late, has reeked of pretense and excess.

I’m just happy to enjoy the breeze.

Alpino, 1426 Bagley St., Detroit. 313-524-0888; alpinodetroit.com.

This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Review: Detroit restaurant Alpino is a breath of fresh air