But being that this space was Jazzed Café before this incarnation, where chef owner Kirk Offerle cooked innovative and often surprisingly authentic Italian fare, it's natural to hope for more daring.
Don't hold your breath. Perhaps it's understandable why you won't find such Roman standards as carciofi alla Giudia, artichokes cooked in hot oil until crisp, or abbachio, the spit-roasted lamb I lust for whenever I am in that ancient city. After all, artichokes are not always in season, and lamb has traditionally been a tough sell in this country.
But there is no reason not to offer dishes such as paglia e fieno (literally "straw and hay"), a delicious blend of green and white pastas in a cream sauce highlighted by peas, ham and fresh mushrooms, or bucatini alla amatriciana, thick pasta tubes with a delicious sauce made with guanciale, or hog jowl.
Having offered this caveat, you'll enjoy Lucio.
The awning over the front door still says Jazzed, but the restaurant has been lightened, although those wacky, multihued, high-backed velvet chairs do remain. Now the walls are sponge-painted burnt sienna (remember that color from your Crayola set?), and there are iron chandeliers and lots of pastel colors. When the weather becomes more hospitable, it will be nice to sit outside on Lucio's spacious patio, under blue umbrellas flying the Illy espresso logo.
The menu differs somewhat in terms of lunch and dinner. At lunch, there are paninis, those hard-to-resist Italian sandwiches in flavors such as tuna, sausage and Caprese, the vegetarian's favorite, composed of bufala mozzarella cheese and ripe tomato. Here, they all acquit themselves well.
If the soup of the day is pasta e fagioli, the hearty Italian pasta and bean soup, grab it. Most regions of Italy have their own version of this soup, and this one is completely and unabashedly Roman—more of a broth than a puree, lots of carrot and onion in the stock, the beans not completely dissolved. One more good choice at lunch is Insalata Invernale, Lucio's signature salad of mixed greens, walnuts, grapes, Blue cheese and vinaigrette.
Evenings, the room takes on a faintly romantic glow, and the menu expands in terms of offering risotto and several main dishes not available during the lunch. The menu tells us that these risotti are "the best in town," but I cannot agree. One made with sausage looked like porridge, tiny bits of meat mingling with the grains of rice, and scampi risotto needed more stirring.
Beyond that, though, there is little to grouse about here. Lucio uses good products and the cooking is solidly traditional.
One good starter is calamari alla Luciana, a nice alternative to the breaded, fried squid that most Italian restaurants offer. This version is a sauté, the squiggly creature sautéed in a spicy tomato sauce jacked up with white wine and lots of garlic. Paradoxically, garlic is not all that popular in Rome. I couldn't help wondering if Lucio has the chef make it with less when he is eating it.
One main dish that is completely Roman, though, is saltimbocca alla Romana, perhaps the most famous Roman dish of them all. The name means "jump into the mouth," which is what it does, being so delicious, for anyone with a touch of the poet. Picture cutlets of veal topped with fresh sage, prosciutto and fontina cheese, sautéed with shallots and wine until the edges are crisp.
I requested a veal Milanese here, and the chef complied beautifully, tossing the veal in breadcrumbs and egg, and topping it with a flurry of arugula and chopped tomatoes. The cioppino, seafood in a rich tomato broth, and eggplant Parmesan, are both fine, as well.
In Rome, I always request, and get, pecorino Romano, rich sheep's-milk cheese, that I personally like so much more than Parmesan on my pastas. Alas, this is hard to get in this town, even though the cheese is a specialty of the Eternal City. Still, I like the house pasta al forno, a rich, meaty, oven-baked pasta, linguine alla vongole, noodles blended in a clam sauce, and, if I am feeling really indulgent, ravioli d'aragosta, a buttery lobster ravioli.
Lucio's makes a few of its own desserts, the star being pastiera Napoletana. This is his mother's recipe. It appears his mother is from Naples, then, and the sweet, a cheesecake made with barley, ricotta, dried fruit and orange flower water, is almost worth the trip. I mean, of course, to the corner of Sahara and Durango, not Italy.