Amelia Lester: Revelatory Italian at Marco's, in Park Slope: The New Yorker Late last month, President Obama came to Brooklyn and picked up some cheesecake from Junior's. He used to live in the borough in the mid-eighties, in Park Slope. Junior's is an institution, and cheesecake is the sort of food politicians need to be seen eating, but if Obama had wanted to observe how his old neighborhood has changed, he could have gone a little further up Flatbush to Marco's, an Italian restaurant that is both rustic and refined, and which exemplifies how much Brooklyn dining has changed since he lived there. Marco's is run by the people who ten years ago opened Franny's in the same spot. Franny's, which has moved nearby to a more spacious, stroller-friendly space, is a pasta and pizza joint, but the back of the menu lists the sourcing of most of the vegetables, and they won't cut the pies into slices for you. Typical rejoinder: "We prefer to serve our pizza as they do in Italy, and our customers find it fun to cut it themselves." The "Portlandia"-level preciousness is forgivable because the kitchen is equally meticulous. At Marco's, a fancier and more expensive restaurant, the pastas are the primi, rather than the main event. As with Franny's, though, each ingredient has been carefully chosen and is showcased simply, often to revelatory effect. Charred duck hearts and gizzards are skewered and drizzled with a mostarda made from Concord grapes, which for once taste more akin to wine than jelly; a mustard-greens salad comes with liberal shavings of Bitto, an Italian cheese from the alpine meadows of Lombardy so creamy it makes Pecorino look like an ugly stepsister; Carolina Gold Rice is dressed only with butter and basil-infused vinegar, yet tastes like it's been scraped from a very good chef's cast-iron skillet. A meal at Marco's can feel hectic. Though the restaurant takes some reservations, the mounting stress of Park Slopers waiting out front is palpable. Babysitters don't pay themselves. The acoustics are difficult, and the bartenders, who make five impeccable Italian-accented cocktails heavy on the Campari and Averna, are accomplished but overworked. Still, the tattooed waitstaff will talk comfortably and at length about tannin levels and the wonders of Castelvetrano olives, "the olive for people who don't like them." Don't go looking for comfort food - one of the more pedestrian selections, a bigoli pasta with cauliflower and anchovies, has the goopiness of cafeteria chow mein. But most of the menu represents a new standard for Brooklyn: spit-roasted pork loin, bathed in drippings, cut with a little grilled escarole; wood-grilled lamb chops served "scottadito," or finger-blistering; a spectacular tagliatelle, dressed with a spartan butter-and-parmigiano sauce to accentuate the ribbons of twenty-four-month Gran Riserva Prosciutto di Parma. It's known as the king of hams, but this dish is good enough for a President. ♦ Open weekdays for dinner and weekends for lunch and dinner. Entrées $19-$30.