The plate in front of you—and it is a handsome one, weighty ceramic with curved edges—is loaded with a swirling, glossy gob of linguini the purple-black of a winter-storm sky. The dark pasta is floating shrimp and chunks of andouille, all of it slick with a buttery brown cream sauce that promises luxury in your mouth. It delivers.
“It was just added to the menu,” the waitress told us when we asked if the linguini was house-made. (It was.) The squid ink pasta joins a small collection of recipes that defy easy definition, from catfish to gnocchi. While Botanica has a decidedly Italian touch, its fare is difficult to pin down. One gets the impression that the kitchen simply decided to focus on some personal favorites. It’s very much like a chef’s tasting, only with any one course as a full serving. For such a confined menu, choices are tough.
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Botanica opened early last autumn in Wildwood, and it instantly became a hit. While there’s plenty of conversation (and, yes, the noise levels compete with seemingly every other new restaurant these days), patrons tend to get quiet when the food is served.
Our conversation stopped with an appetizer of thick-cut, lightly toasted sourdough accompanied by a lump of herbed, salted lardo. Lardo is the fat from pork rind. It’s insanely rich. It is to bacon what an 1811 Château d’Yquem is to Two Buck Chuck. If there’s an appetizer that alone warrants a restaurant visit, this is it. Nearly as enjoyable is what must be the quintessential Southern starter. A splendidly crumbly, buttery biscuit comes with gossamer-pink slivers of smoked pork-belly speck and—“Bless your heart!”—pimento cheese. Given that magnificent lardo, you might be thinking the chef is from Italy’s Aosta Valley, and then here comes that pimento cheese, and you decide he’s from Alabama.
There’s also a Southern touch in a catfish fillet that gets a bit of Italian inspiration: Parmesan is sprinkled into the breadcrumbs that season the fish before it hits the skillet, adding considerably to the flavor of a crispy golden crust. Alongside is an eggplant innovation, the entire fruit split, stuffed with cheese, and then roasted. (Rice, polenta, or grits might be more complementary sides.)
A kitchen shouldn’t mess with roast chicken cavalierly. Well-roasted, it needs little else—that is, unless you can elevate it with, in the case of Botanica, a Mediterranean touch. Pepperonata—that classic stew of tomatoes, peppers, and onions—is a grand match with the chicken and its sweet, brittle crust. It’s all bathed in the bird’s juices, fragrant with olives, capers, and bacon nibbles—and it works. It’s an inspired combination of a winter-appropriate roast chicken with a summery pepperonata.
Short ribs can also warm a chilly night. Braised until flaky tender and glistening, it’s hard to imagine a better way to present it than on a bed of salt-and-pepper-flecked grits with a side of roasted vegetables. Lamb shoulder gets taken past braising, into a ragu swirled with tagliatelle strings, along with fermented pork salume that’s called njuda, as well as lemon zesty gremolata.
If your image of zeppoles is of Southern Italian doughnuts, then you’re in for a savory surprise. Botanica deep fries a light pastry wrapped around minced crab and chives, spiced with Old Bay, and drizzled with lemon-enlivened remoulade, making for a starter that rivals the lardo and sourdough.
The crust on a pizza Margherita is excellent—charred, crisp, and yeasty. The mozzarella is mixed with stracciatella. It’s a Roman thing; the luscious runny creaminess of the latter is nice, but its consistency, spreading over the foundation of mozzarella, prevents the cheese from being burnished by the oven into the essential toasty filigree of crust. The result: a superfluity of gooeyness.
Botanica’s layout is simple: a big, open space divided by a wall and shelves, with a long bar at the rear. The patio’s pleasant in good weather, though it’s probably a tad frosty these days. Speaking of frosty, the beer selection is noteworthy. It’s a small but stellar selection, all brewed at Botanica’s sister place, Six Mile Bridge. Cocktails are fun. A gin fizz comes in a shade of pink normally associated with a Japanese love hotel suite. The wine list is compact, with modest and affordable vintages.
Overall, it makes for an enjoyable dining experience in Wildwood.
