I don't want to hang too much on a tiny place like Luce, but in its nearly 15 years here, it's come to represent everything that is both great and mind-numbingly frustrating about both the Italian and Italian-American dining experiences here.
We've seen this place make a lot of necessary adaptations since the pandemic: Wedging in more seats, adding outdoor seating, minimizing the shop and provisions, but focusing on the menu. That said, they've accomplished it all with grace and navigated the costs of the business that have killed lesser establishments.
But let's start with the space: Yes, it is small, but this is why it pays to do some minimal research. There are no reservations (which is more often the case than not in Portland even after the pandemic), so if time is of the essence, you're likely going to be better served by a place like Montelupo that can set aside a table or bar seats in advance.
Let's talk about the portions: I'm going to break this to Portland's Olive Gardenazzi as gently as I can--a portion of pasta is generally a cup or somewhere between 120 and 150 grams. It isn't the box of Ronzoni that the Old Spaghetti Warehouse empties into your troth just before you twirl it around your fork. Considering that this is what Luce serves as its single portion, and that all of the pasta it serves is handmade (as are the sauces), what it is charging is not only eminently reasonable, but a steal in this area.
Now let's discuss the experience: Luce built its room, its menu, and its pricing around the basic concept of a small Italian restaurant or cafe. It may not be the spot with 20 tables on the Piazza Del Repubblica, but it's the little door with two tables on the side street a few blocks down. It isn't there to consume ink or data with fawning reviews: It's there to make you comfortable and get you to stay.
John Taboada loves importing this idea to Portland, and this corner of it in particular. Navarre is, culturally, the closest thing Portland has to a true Spanish cafe that values your time there over what and how much you consume. At Luce, you can pick at $2 antipast and $4 salt focaccia while sipping $5 Menabrea (will just say it... better than 25% of "craft" beer available in this market) and Amaro club or $8 house pours.
The pasta prices for a "half" (again, a full portion), typically range between $15 and $16, but there's always one $10 item on the list. The specials (including hangar steak and lamb) clock in at $20 to $25.
This is a time-worn formula that allows the patron to order as much or as little as they wish over the span of time they choose. Want to drop in for 10 minutes for a drink and a nosh? Can do. Want to be there for an hour and a half talking with old friends. Can do that, too. Want to plan for an hour on a date night, but have options that let you pull the rip cord halfway through? Luce has got you.
Also, I'm hearing a ton of griping from the peanut gallery about wait times as if nobody's figured out that Luce owns a whole-ass bar--Bar Martina--right next door that you can wait in until something opens up.
I've mentioned in other reviews that I've complained my way to 28th Street basically becoming a Portland Little Italy, and I'm extremely grateful that Luce hung around long enough to be part of that transformation. I can't help but see some of the notes that places like Montelupo and Grana took from Taboada's enterprise, but the neighborhood is still rife with places that would rather turn a table than create repeat business and customers who wish every Italian eatery was like the Grassa that ChefsTable exported to their suburb.
One of the either great or disappointing moments in each Italian-American's life is realizing that their culinary traditions and those of the various regions of Italy are more disparate than they could imagine. But if you can develop an appreciation of each, and recognize the effort and culture behind a place like Luce, what it's offering seems more like a gift than an unintended slight. read more