Cafe Cibo

"Hungry!" she says. Then she does her best Little Shop of Horrors impression: "Feed me."

When Karen’s hungry, she has the patience of a gnat in a hurricane. At home, this is fine—it’s one of those endearing marital quirks. It’s not fine, however, when we arrive at Café Cibo two hours past our usual feeding time and the host can’t find our reservation.

"Are you sure you called ahead?" I ask Karen while the host scans his list. This error will add 45 minutes to our wait.

"Positive." She folds her arms and taps her fingers against a taut bicep.

Viewed from the parking lot, Café Cibo seems like just another strip-mall eatery. Inside, however, owner-chef Marc Marotta has created a soft-lit oasis as warm and convivial as any Brooklyn bistro. Café Cibo is packed with baby boomers engaged in animated conversation. Karen whispers in my ear, "This place must be good. It’s standing room only on a Wednesday night. And everyone’s so … boisterous."

The host apologizes and says we can wait at one of the outdoor tables. Karen summons hidden stores of gracious behavior and says, "I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait."

We go outside and sit. I begin tackling The New York Times crossword puzzle. Karen fidgets with the strap of her purse. After two minutes, and then every two minutes for the next 45, she says, "Will you remind them that we’re waiting?"

"They know we’re waiting. I don’t want to bother them."

"But they lost our reservation," she says. "What if they’re overwhelmed and forget us again?"

"If you’re so worried, you should do it. By the way, what’s a knight’s duty? Eight letters, ends in y."

"Chivalry, which is obviously dead in modern-day Fort Myers," she says before going to check with the maitre d’.

As soon as we gain a coveted table, waitress Carmen Santiago fills our glasses with Pellegrino and recommends three wines by the glass—Collio ’05 Russiz Superiore pinot grigio ($9), Tuscany ’04 Castello Monastero chianti classico ($8) and Lake County ’04 Trinchero cabernet sauvignon ($8). We’re starved, so once Carmen delivers the wine we order everything: appetizers, soup, salad and entrées. Carmen recites our selections back to us without writing a thing down, a skill that hints at a higher power.

"Let me get you some bread," she says, and dervishes through the black saloon doors into the kitchen.

Karen tries the pinot grigio. "Mmm. Cool and fruity," she says. I swirl the chianti against the hanging yellow light above our table.

"It’s got legs," I say, and take a sip. "Mellow, tasty legs."

The bread arrives with tapinade and whipped garlic butter spreads. Karen takes a bite of the tapinade and says, "My mood’s improving. I’m almost human again."

Our moods further improve when we sample the tomato-based seafood chowder ($6) packed with whitefish, shrimp and potatoes. By the time we finish nibbling on the ample portion of fried calamari, served with black olive vinaigrette and salsa d’avolo dipping sauces ($7), and littleneck clams swimming in a zesty garlic/white wine/basil broth ($9), we’re downright gleeful. Karen polishes off the beef carpaccio ($9), pushes back from the table, and says, "I’m stuffed already."

"That’s too bad," says Carmen, who has materialized with a fresh refill of Pellegrino. We ask her if Café Cibo is always so busy on a Wednesday night. "Every night, not just Wednesdays," she says. "We only have 14 tables, which is a capacity of 40 customers, but that’ll change soon."

I say, "Are you knocking down walls and expanding?"

"Let me get your entrées, and then I’ll answer that question." She dashes away and returns quickly with eggplant parmesan ($16), frutti di mare ($26) and veal porterhouse ($29). "We’re not knocking anything down," Carmen says. "We’re converting Kennedy’s Cove [four doors down] into the new Café Cibo. Our capacity will expand to 150."

Karen slices a piece of veal, and asks, "When’s the move?"

Carmen sprinkles fresh parmesan on my eggplant. "In July. Can I get you anything else?"

"A doggy bag and the check, please. We’re already so full that we’ll probably only take a bite of each thing," I say. Just then, another waiter delivers a plate of cannoli to the adjacent table.

Karen drops her fork and holds up her hands in surrender. "Wait, not so fast! We’ll take the cannoli ($6) and the chocolate volcano cake ($6)." She looks at the three entrées. "And a big, big doggy bag."

We vow to take one bite of each entrée—to leave room for dessert—but they’re all so delicious that we break the vow by at least three bites apiece. Carmen whisks away our leftovers and replaces them with the cannoli and cake, each a sweet work of art. A hint of lemon proves a perfect counterpoint to the cannoli’s rich ricotta filling. As for the chocolate volcano cake, Karen lodges the ultimate compliment by saying it rivals that of Patio 33. (Readers of this column know that Karen compares every dessert to the heretofore incomparable Patio 33 chocolate fondant.) I dive into the scoop of Bailey’s gelato that accompanies the volcano and savor the thrill of each bite melting on my tongue.

By the time Carmen returns with our doggy bags, we have chocolate on our fingertips and in the corners of our mouths.

Our bloated waddle to the door is neither graceful nor gallant, but when I transfer our three doggy bags to one hand so I can hold the door for Karen on the way out, she forgives me the knight’s early trespasses: "Ahhh … chivalry is alive and well in Fort Myers."

Café Cibo, 12901-5 McGregor Blvd., Fort Myers. (239) 454-3700. Reservations recommended. Free parking in lot. Credit cards accepted. Handicapped accessible.

Reviewed: July 2007