Minus drinks but including dessert-which we’ll, uh, grapple with below-it cost $45. The pacing was masterful, the sequence nimble, with portions big enough to leave a fat food critic stuffed (so to speak). O’Donnell and Lombardi treat theirs like a portfolio of career bests. It’s also barely the fifth-best dish you get in the “Arsenale,” a communal-dining whirlwind that may change my prejudice against prix fixe, which restaurants tend to treat as cheapskate-outreach programs: to fill early-bird seats or offload fading salmon onto the extra-well-done crowd. Just when the palate starts to panic, salty, olive-oiled crisps of grilled bread swoop in to give all that exhilarating sharpness something smoky and glistening to ride. Pungent fermented-anchovy sauce, then astringent Asiago. First, with a trio of horseradish-y radishes-daikon, watermelon, breakfast-then grated actual horseradish. Instead, co-chefs Michael Lombardi and Kevin O’Donnell crank up the bitterness even higher. Potent enough, in fact, to mix with milder varieties to soften its impact. Feisty and peppery, it may remind you, as it did me, that this criminally dumbed-down leafy green used to be sold in the herb aisle by the quarter ounce. I don’t know what they’re feeding the frilly baby arugula in the radish salad ($8) at SRV-the Coda group’s reliably sublime Venetian bacaro (small-plates-driven wine bar)-but it sure turns into a brute. Lamb-sausage maltagliati with favas and charred ramps.