Take the (caviar) cannoli: Soho’s buzzy Sartiano’s is on its way to glory

Put Zero Bond club king Scott Sartiano in charge of an iconic dining venue — previously Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Mercer Kitchen — hire famed chef Alfred Portale as your culinary director, and what do you get?

Caviar cannoli, for one thing.

The “wowee-look-at-me” item on Sartiano’s otherwise normal-sounding menu is a step up from Portale’s idea of Italian cuisine “presented through a contemporary lens.”

The little darlings are barely a mouthful for $48 — they go down faster than a pair of pills, but they’re a lot yummier, with whipped mascarpone cheese inside the crackling crust and Italian-farmed Ossetra caviar tucked into each end.

The brick-walled, subterranean space that was the beloved Mercer Kitchen fortunately hasn’t changed much. Even with some new art work and upholstery, “The bones are the same,” my friend — himself an Italian restaurant owner who was at Mercer on its last day in December 2022 — approvingly noted.

Open less than a month, Sartiano’s has already drawn a bevy of boldface followers of Sartiano or Portale: Paul McCartney, Martha Stewart, Christian Bale, Usher, Cara Delevingne, Kristen Stewart and Sofia Coppola among them.

But it’s nothing like Mayor Adams’ favorite hangout, Zero Bond. The whole restaurant feels like one big, happy party for everyone, with neither seating hierarchy nor attitude.

For now, Portale is dividing his time between his wonderful namesake eatery on West 18th and Sartiano’s. Some dishes I had were outstanding, others less so, as you expect at a place so new.

Focaccia made in-house with  with Taggiasca olives and Sicilian oregano made a great curtain-raiser. A Caesar salad of little gem lettuce, parmesan and crackling garlic breadcrumbs sparkled on plate and palate.

Was fritto misto not quite the traditional article? The tempura-like breading “tastes like rice flour,” my Italian-learned friend said — a perception confirmed by Portale when he popped by later.

Executive chef Chris Lewnes’ kitchen will surely become more consistent over time. Orecchiette with broccoli rabe pesto and heritage pork sausage was an elevated, vivid Portale take on the often clunky pasta favorite one night — but so liquefied on another night that it was almost like soup.

Tomato sauce, a Portale specialty, lived up to its reputation in pillow-soft agnolotti with buffalo milk ricotta. It was equally good in toothsome, al dente spaghetti that accompanied overcooked and dull, mozzarella-stuffed chicken breast parm. (Be aware that lasagna, which I didn’t try, is an all-white, 12-layer affair with mushrooms and black truffle shavings.)

There are pricey beef dishes — up to $425 for 36-oz., olive-fed Wagyu porterhouse — I look forward to having another time. I hope that by then that the mostly sweet staff  will learn not to be too sweet — e.g., a well-meaning but ageist-sounding waitress who called my wife “dear,” not once but five times at the same sitting.

Despite the glitches, Sartiano’s — buzzing every night even on a hot Friday in July — is on its way to glory. Let’s hope it  lives as long as Mercer Kitchen did.