If we are tracing influences, though, Mr. Secchi’s cooking at Rezdôra seems to have been molded at least as deeply by his time working at the pasta station of another restaurant in Modena, Hosteria Giusti. Laura Galli Morandi, Giusti’s chef, steadfastly defends the style of the local nonna tradition that Mr. Secchi channels in his pasta tasting and other parts of his menu. Like a meal in Giusti’s four-table dining room, one at Rezdôra can and probably should start with prosciutto and other manifestations of salted pork draped over warm pillows of fried dough called gnocchi fritti.

Before leaving Italy, Mr. Secchi also cooked at Antica Moka in Modena and All’Enoteca in the Piedmont; after coming back home to Dallas, where he grew up, he ran the kitchens of two restaurants his parents own there. Still, I suspect the Bottura connection is responsible for the speed with which the bar stools fill up when the restaurant opens at 5:30 each night, for the difficulty of reserving one of the other 48 seats, and for the way would-be customers collect in eddies outside the door to strategize. Not much about the interior is likely to lure crowds; with its brick walls, timbered ceiling and bare wood tables, it looks like any number of Manhattan restaurants that emulate the trattorias, enotecas and osterias of Italy.

And of course, people who eat at Rezdôra have a way of becoming repeat customers. They come back even though it is still a young restaurant and occasionally makes a young restaurant’s mistakes. One night, the stewed cannellini beans placed alongside black sea bass and black garlic zabaglione were still crunchy; the rock shrimp served with strozzapreti could have been a little less tough and tasted a little shrimpier. And some of the original pastas aren’t quite as stunning as the classics, but then every grandmother in Emilia-Romagna could have told you that.

Mr. Secchi is still one of the most appealing new talents in years to enter the city’s Italian restaurant scene, the kind of cook who can unite ordinary people who just like to eat pasta and the fanatics who collect menus from Osteria Francescana. (The date-stamped copy of the regional tasting menu that’s given out at the end of the night, signed by Mr. Secchi and his kitchen crew, must be for this crowd.) He also has the good luck to come along when some of the figures who dominated New York’s Italian landscape for the past two decades or so have either disappeared or gone into hibernation.

There is one more workplace that I hope has left a mark on Mr. Secchi: his parents’ restaurants in Texas, both of which are called Ferrari’s Italian Villa & Chop House. The first has been in business since 1983, a life span that any restaurateur would envy. The odds are against Rezdôra’s being around 36 years from now, but Mr. Secchi and his business partner have made one move that tends to be associated with longevity in New York restaurants. They bought the building.

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