Gina’s Bistro

There are new restaurants in Italy, of course; logic alone would dictate that. But when I think of Italy and the restaurants I've dined in there, the biggest obvious difference between them and Gina's Bistro is that they were all old, faded and decrepit -- in a beloved, nostalgic sense, make no mistake -- and Gina's is colorful and shiny-new.

The big differences really do end there. You've got your charming Italian-accented proprietor, your charming Italian-accented server/assistant manager/chief-cook-and-bottle-washer, your quiet young helper, your fresh flowers on the table and, most of all, the overwhelming fragrance of garlic.

Which is a good thing.

A really good thing, because it never fails to awaken in me memories of somebody's Nonna, her hair bundled into a kerchief and her stockings rolled down, bending over a pot of that magical glue that keeps Italian families stuck together, also known as Sunday sauce.

But Gina's Bistro isn't all about pasta and marinara. It's traditional Italian, but there's more going on there than the red-checked paper placemats and laminate-topped tables might indicate.

There is, for example, the Brava Gina Bis Pasta ($12.95), a duo that we suspect was named for the proprietress. One side of the plate was filled with farfalle -- or butterflies, or bow-ties -- that were neither as small nor as large as the sizes that commonly come from American pasta manufacturers, which probably means they were imported from Italy. (And judging from the perfect level of al dente, I'd guess there was just enough semolina in this mix.) They had been cloaked in a creamy sauce with a multitude of tender slices of sauteed mushrooms, and the textures of the pasta and the mushrooms paired nicely.

The other side of the plate carried a cut of pasta not often found here -- strozzapreti, or "priest chokers" -- which are hand-rolled tubes a couple of inches long, their raggedy edges perfect for catching the creamy pink sauce they carried and its nubs of sausage and shards of black truffle.

Chicken parmigiana ($12.95) may seem about as garden-variety as its gets, but this lily was gilded with a layer of sliced eggplant, cut thinly so that both the flavor and texture were wonderfully delicate. The customary layer of mozzarella and a good dose of marinara -- pulpy and thick, made of chunked tomatoes instead of crushed or pureed, and cooked slowly to enable the seasonings to penetrate through to the soul -- completed the dish.

We'd started with the carpaccio Toscano ($9.95) and the mozzarella caprese ($8.50), and our ingratiating server -- "Verrry nice, my friend" -- asked ahead if we'd like to share, bringing extra plates and serving the first portions. He also offered some garlic bread ($5), and the slices of toasted ciabatta carried lots of garlic and lots of olive oil for a richness that felt decadent.

The carpaccio was excellent -- beef tenderloin thinly shaved, topped with generous shavings of Parmesan and a pile of fresh spinach, all of it on a shallow puddle of olive-oil vinaigrette.

The caprese, not so much. Well, the mozzarella was top-notch -- soft and nutty, it both tasted and looked freshly made, moist enough that it sort of settled onto the tomato slices so as to almost form a unit, and the chiffonade of fresh basil showered atop provided flavor accents as only fresh basil can -- but the tomato slices themselves were less than ripe, a little overly firm and not as full of flavor as they should have been. I think I'd have taken the dish off the menu and thrown the tomatoes into a paper bag overnight to see if they ripened a bit.

But it was a small quibble, and one I'd risk again. Because everything else about Gina's Bistro -- well, they don't serve wine, although you're welcome to bring your own and there's no corkage fee -- carries memories of old Italia and is about as authentic as our modern city allows.

Las Vegas Review-Journal reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Contact Heidi Knapp Rinella at 383-0474 or e-mail her at hrinella@reviewjournal.com.