We tried to meet at a new place but they’d shut down, arbitrarily, for a private party. Adelmo’s saved the day. “We have a table for you,” owner Adelmo Banchetti said.

The shoebox space felt so quiet when we walked in. Everyone stopped to give us a glance. Just as quickly, they went back to their business, and we made note of the worldly discretion at this Italian-French-Mediterranean hideaway. This is definitely the place to conduct your illicit affair. Even at lunch, everyone was drinking wine—and by the bottle, not the glass.

Our waiter was a character. He recited the specials from the blackboard verbatim, embellishing only with the random, deeply intoned yessss. The lemon wedges he brought for the water were freshly cut, and house-made rolls were world-class: warm, fragrant, firm of crust.

Pork loin medallions and scaloppini of veal with roasted potato and veg medley felt a little old-school, and the bread pudding sure was sweet. But tomato-garlic soup was brilliant, with potent shreds of tomato and slivers of garlic. Behind the bar, Banchetti scowled at the fellow at our table wearing a baseball cap, though he never said a thing.

Get contact information for Adelmo’s.