Gabriele’s, a Very Posh Steakhouse

Gabriele’s came out of the gate a champion. A steakhouse with strong Italian overtones, the restaurant is a winner. It’s sexy, with lots of gleaming wood and cushiony upholstered seating, and a green granite-topped bar where the bottles are grouped by label and color against the back wall, creating an iridescent still life that shimmers with light. It sets the stage for all the beautiful people to congregate before moving on to dinner.

The restaurant is the result of an at-times frustrating two-year plan to recast the old Luca’s into a glamorous place to dine and be seen. Danny Gabriele, son of Luca and the force behind Gabriele’s, wisely chose Jody Pennette, the talented brains running the cb5 Restaurant Group, to transform Luca’s from weathered décor into a classy space. Danny brought in Tony Capasso, the affable former maître d’ at Valbella’s, and Joe Giordano, a chef who loves Italian food (and lots of butter and black truffles), and sent out calling cards to a devoted clientele.

Tony is ever observant, perpetually skating through the dining room to stop at tables and chat up guests. At Valbella’s, he earned a reputation as a fun guy, the kind Letterman should have on his show. Joe is the executive chef who wowed diners for years at Valbella’s before moving on to a stint in White Plains. Remember those dishes he sent out from his kitchen, overflowing with so much food? Some were rich enough to put you into a swoon. At Gabriele’s, Joe finesses his dishes so that there is often a little surprise: curds of mild ricotta with the mezze rigatoni (the pasta looks as if it were cut in half); crunchy watermelon radish in a salad of cukes and tomatoes tossed with just-sprouted baby greens; charred pear instead of melon or fig with prosciutto; specks of chilies in the mignonette; mustard aioli sauces for almost everything else. He stuffs giant potatoes — whose size must have won a blue ribbon at the county fair — with crème fraîche and smoky bacon which gives the spud a spicy kick. His Sicilian meatballs are made with raisins and pignoli nuts, a denser, sweeter variation than the more familiar Neapolitan meatballs of spaghetti sauce fame.

Fried lobster gets dunked in oil pungent with 30 cloves of garlic and hot pepper flakes and is as poker-red as if it got sunburned by a Sahara sun. Chicken is bathed in an overnight marinade and comes out juicy and tender. Ole Joe still has the touch — and his portion size is still exuberant, like his personality.

His pastry chef Leanne Mascolli executes desserts that can quicken heartbeats. Take her interpretation of an old-time ice box cake (we still call it that, except we use refrigerators to chill our cakes, not a block of ice in a box). It’s a forever favorite of many a child. Leanne’s is layered with chocolate wafers and mascarpone vanilla cream instead of just plain whipped cream and it’s topped with Grand Marnier intoxicated strawberries. Her French toast is another star: maple syrup drizzled over brioche, vanilla anglaise, Nutella, brown butter, custard sauce, raspberry purée and hazelnut ice cream. What a decadent treat.

On a recent Tuesday night, patrons, mostly men in suit and tie, crowded the bar, where Patrick the bartender mixed Negronis (check out that foam on top!) and margaritas, his right arm whipping the shaker as if it had a mind of its own in a fast rhythmic zumba beat. A fire roared in the front fireplace, the only relic remaining from the days of Luca’s of old. Oversize prints adorn the walls and tall stalks of flowers are lined up in glass vases across a table as you enter the restaurant proper. A baronial long table sits in the center of the room, on a carpet, under a contemporary, round chandelier. Other tables practically hug each other, under hanging lights shielded by lampshades. There are valets to park your car, hat check girls to take your wrappings and perpetually moving waiters to deliver your orders. You’re pampered to the nines.

The place looks like updated quarters of a distinguished British club, but unlike those dark hallowed halls where men doze off as others quietly broker deals, Gabriele’s has a lively ambiance — and it’s noisy as hell, with conversations and laughter contending with a bit of background music. Grandparents invariably head for the banquets along the far wall.

No matter the decibel range, Gabriele’s was a huge success within days of opening. People love it. At 6:30 pm. on any given weekday night, the place is packed. There is no other restaurant like it in Greenwich or, for that matter, for miles around.

Giordano does his Italian canon justice. For plate-size ravioli encasing a classic combination of spinach and ricotta, Giordano goes the extra mile and adds egg yolks to the stuffing. When the pasta is cooked, the yolk is poached. With one swipe of the fork, a bright sunshiny orange orb oozes out — it’s rich and velvety, a very comfortable mouth feel. Under a brush-stroke of melted butter with bits of black truffle, a smattering of minced chives and the merest drizzle of truffle olive oil, the dough is a humble coach for such royal passengers. A sinful dish by any measure.

Of course, there are steaks and chops on the menu and mandatory creamed spinach, fries and mac ’n’ cheese. (On one occasion, unfortunately, a steak was a bit tough at the edges.) Prices are steakhouse routine. Expect to drop $30 to about $45 for a good prime beef, but please don’t skip the first course — you’re in an Italian restaurant, with an Italian owner, head honcho on the floor and another in the kitchen, so you just have to spring for the pasta with lobster or the gnocchi in a Bolognese sauce. You have all week to diet.

The wine list relies mostly on Italian vineyards with some good choices from California and France. There are enough bottles under $100 to encourage experimentation (try the Renieri di Montalcino, $39,with its licorice, floral notes with your steak, or even Damilano’s silky barbera, $48). For the towering stack of shellfish in huge white utilitarian-looking bowls (wisps of seaweed drape over the sides for a bit of oceanside nostalgia and vapors from dry ice in the bottom tray evoke fog-shrouded beaches), we like the minerality of vermentino from Antinori, $60, that neatly balances the salinity of the shellfish. On its reserve menu, Gabriele’s includes three luscious amarones (more than the cost of a dinner anywhere, I assure you) and barolas. An oenophile’s dream trip to Italy.

Make your reservations now for word of mouth is spreading fast. Just bring earplugs, wear your Sunday best that is loose around the middle and don’t visit your doctor for two weeks after you eat here. A cholesterol high if ever there was one. Veeeery posh. And be patient at the bar — it’s three deep and counting.

Gabriele’s Steakhouse

35 Church St., Greenwich

(203) 622-4223

Open daily for dinner.

(May open for lunch at a later date.)