The café is open until rush hour on weekdays only.
THE PLUMP, tender meatballs and the generous panini sandwiches from Caffe Margherita have become the talk of Gateway Center.
The lawyers stop for lunch, the laborers stop for lunch, and, at certain times of day, folks jam up the hallway like so many airplanes on the runway. "I'm no restaurateur by any means," says Frank Ambrosio, who opened the cafe in February and remains humble about his ambitions. "I grew up with good food."
Ambrosio's mother, Josephine, grew up in San Giuseppe, a neighborhood in Naples, Italy. She started cooking at 11, learning everything from her mother. Of all the sisters, she was the best, says Ambrosio. Josephine moved from Italy to Fanwood in 1966. Homesick, she returned to Italy a few years later, then moved back to New Jersey for good.
For Ambrosio, that meant a childhood rich with food. Those meatballs are her recipe, which Ambrosio insists is just the basics -- bread crumbs, Parmesan, parsley and ground meat. Yet, the balance reflects a lifetime of skill, a remarkable lightness, oomph without density. The tomato sauce is her recipe, too, also simple: garlic, onions, basil, San Marzano tomatoes. The sauce is sweet and light.
The meatball panini, from Caffe Margherita in Gateway Center, Newark. Ambrosio says his parents always wanted to open a restaurant but never got around to it. The cafe, open until rush hour on weekdays only, is his opportunity to share his mother's kitchen expertise. The food is straightforward and everything is homemade, with an eye toward quality. "No cheap mozzarella," Ambrosio says.
The menu is sharply focused, featuring several panini sandwiches in the $8 range (grilled chicken with pesto, soppressata, prosciutto) and a few familiar home-style Italian and Italian-American favorites (chicken parm, saltimbocca, sausage and peppers). Salads are fresh, with crisp bright greens (skip the syrupy balsamic dressing). For $8.99, you can order pasta with meatballs, or pasta with chicken parm, or pasta with a little of both.
Ambrosio is not afraid to mix and match. The building's workers, otherwise relegated to sterile chain food, seem to appreciate it. This cafe is all about location and lunch.
The bread is a standout, nearly blond in color, soft and doughy with a sturdy crust. It's delivered daily from Espiga De Oro, a Portuguese bakery also in Newark. It's the perfect texture for panini, says Ambrosio, who sells more than 50 each day.
The tiramisu ($3.50), also Josephine's recipe, is truly special, reflecting again a lifetime of experience. It is incredibly well-balanced, creamy not soggy, sweet but not overly so, and rich with espresso.
Ambrosio, who already seems to know every customer by name, will offer to make you an entire cake. It would be a formidable temptation, that cake in a home fridge, and it would not last long no matter how small your household. Other desserts include cheesecake and the homemade cannoli, which is also popular.
Ask Ambrosio about his mother, and he doesn't know where to begin. "She gets things done. In 20 minutes, she'll have a full dinner. Give her three or four items and she'll make you a meal."
He'll wistfully lament the end of Sunday dinners, a weekly event, 20 people at the table. "Sundays are supposed to be family time," he says. "That time is gone."
Or those years as a young adult, all those weekends clubbing with friends. Instead of ending the night at a diner, they stopped at Ambrosio's house, 30 people. Josephine had a feast waiting in the oven.
Or her puttanesca sauce. Ambrosio loves her puttanesca sauce. "You know what? I'm going to have her make it for me."
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