Cafe Riviera

The mall. The place of pre-drinking age socialization and compulsory, indiscriminate spending, the latter of which made it the setting of a zombie film classic (and a sprint zombie remake).

Syrupy Chinese food, 2,000 calorie cinnamon buns, Sbarro’s, and lame concept bar/restaurants dreamed up by robots (accountants) are all you rightfully expect to find.

But opposite the Spencer’s and through the stone arch facade, there’s hardly anything cheap and lacking an artisan’s care at Café Riveria.

Stroll past the alluring sights and smells of thin crust and Sicilian pizza – it’s good, but definitely not why you should be here – and grab a tray and wait your turn for meals that go well beyond the confines of what’s normally served up in a cafeteria.       

You reach in the chilled glass case at the line’s start to extract a creamy banana vanilla pudding – sourced from a spot by 43rd and Locust in West Philly – or their coffee, liquor infused tiramisu.

Abundant diced fresh greens await you on the first stop on the assembly line, with nary a mole to greet you. The best options are their Caesar --fresh romaine lettuce, grated parmesan, garlic and oil infused croutons, and a cheese, anchovy, and egg yolk dressing matched by fillets of the omega-3 replete fish if you ask – and a house salad (of your choosing) done up whisper thin stalks of carrots and green peppers, chunks of tomato, and fresh corkscrew pasta, the slightly chilled, perfectly cooked starch best anointed with their light Italian dressing. 

Then with a warm, genuine smile, you’re politely asked things like, “And what meal are you having today, sir?” or “And you, miss, what can I have the pleasure of getting for you?” The simple emphasis on the word meal, of course, conveys that you’re taking part in something separate from the cost-over-quality exercise out there. At Café Riviera you’re going to benefit from solid technique and quality ingredients. It also says, “you should care about this as much as we do.”

With eager anticipation I watch as long-serving cook Dario Iaconianni extracts a massive wedge of lasagna from the two-deep steam table running for most of the rails’ length, with choice options like their prized chicken cacciatore and their veal genovese. Cooks rushing in from the adjacent kitchen to touch-up trays with a bit of fresh sauce or to add components amidst turnover speaks to the same care Iaconianni and his line partner give to each dish, taking it beyond the scoop-and-serve basics of buffet lines. While the mozzarella browns in equidistant spots under the concentrated heat of the salamander placed high up the wall, I watch as he adds oil to a stainless steel pan and heats together my pairing of spaghetti with the stuffed pork.

Down the line, and after getting a side of oil-soaked grilled long hots, I giddily find myself before two separate mounds of breadsticks, the best ones being dense rods daubed with EVOO, a heated spice blend, topped with grilled medium temp peppers, and tomatoes and onions soaked in more olive oil.

They’re of course the perfect thing to swipe through their slightly spicy, garlic-infused marinara that’s brought to sublime levels by small strands of soft tomato that tells of blanched plum tomatoes – their sweetness readily apparent as well – relieved of their skins ahead of a brief sauté.

With the homemade lasagna, the sauce perfectly complements the oil of the melted mozzarella that reaches through layers of rich, pliant pasta to mingle with a moist ricotta of a texture akin to soft tofu. The little oil coming off the lean, yet flavorful ground beef only adds to the crescendo -- a sensation that had me flying up the boulevard during double class break at La Salle.

Two moist pieces of pork abutting gooey provolone, spinach, and roasted red pepper comprise the special. The green pigment bled upon the porcine flesh speaks to the brilliant interplay of flavors. The dish is served in sauce perfectly taken up by the spaghetti: a seemingly simple act of deglazing (via stock) a pork-enriched pan to yield a sauce mounted with butter.

The eggplant parmesan is equally impressive. It’s vocal without any of its best notes impinged upon by bitterness (mostly likely by the cook wisely opting to use the seedless male eggplant) and equally important, it retains its texture – it’s thankfully not mushy even after being given a breaded and melted mozzarella coating.

I mention my university lunch time trips to one of the other cooks, as well as how far superior their lasagna is to that of history hugging Ralph’s of The Italian Market.

In response to the adulation, he says, “that’s because everything is homemade,” with a smile. “They’re solid recipes made from scratch and we care,” and he went off to politely greet the next customer.

Pans rattled off in the next room. The always cute stand-in behind the counter rang people up. Hot plates were slid under scorching heat. People sat along the many booths, tables stacked with their entrees and the accompanying soup/salad, breadsticks, while the mirthful faces – of any novices at least – bespoke a befuddlement born of a vastly pleasant, and overwhelmingly unexpected find. 

is located at the Neshaminy Mall by the Boscov’s, Bensalem.