Babbo: The Promised Land
Mario Batali. You know him, don't you? Red hair? Ponytail? Khaki shorts and orange clogs? Perhaps you've seen him cooking on the Food Network, speaking to his guests and to you with a hint of condescension. Perhaps you've seen him traveling through Italy eating things you would kill your first born to taste. It could be that you've seen him pull a rabbit out of his hat on Iron Chef America by coming up with some ridiculously rich veal and ricotta meatball concoction in a matter of seconds. Or maybe you have one of his cookbooks sitting on your shelf. But if you are really fortunate, you have eaten at one of Batali's Manhattan restaurants. Please do, as Mario probably needs to buy a new Vespa.
If you have no idea what the Baron is talking about and the notion of getting on an airplane to go eat is alien to you, there is an Olive Garden down the street. Enjoy.
Still here? Mario is one of the top chefs in the U.S. Don't be fooled by the television appearances and the marketing. Mario knows his business, and his restaurant empire--Babbo, Esca, Otto, Lupa, Casa Mono, Bistro du Vent (and the just-opened Del Posto)--is impressive in its consistency and quality. True, Mario is not, and could not possibly be, in the kitchen all the time. But his imprint is unmistakable, and he trains his underlings well. The Baron has seen Mario coming out the kitchen at Babbo on more than one occasion, though Mr. Batali gives the Baron a wide berth. There was an incident involving some infused grappa, and, well that's not important right now.
Babbo is of course the flagship restaurant. Opened in 1998, Babbo is located at 110 Waverly Place, close to Mario's other outposts, and mostly critically, close to the basement cellar at Italian Wine Merchants (of which Mario is a co-owner). Babbo snared three stars from the New York Times, and only missed a fouth (unheard of for Italian restaurants) for relatively minor quibbles like the crowded bar area (true) and the loud rock music that incongruously plays from the speakers (also true, but not entirely unwelcome--Babbo is not the place for Sinatra or Dean Martin). But surely you can handle some Franz Ferdinand as you dig into your marinated fresh sardines with caramelized fennel and lobster oil. And good luck getting a table. One needs to call promptly in the AM exactly one month prior to the desired reservation date. Or you could try calling in the early afternoon on the day of, hoping to slip in on a cancellation.
The room is cozy and civilized--lots of dark wood, wine bottles, mood lighting, and copies of Mario's cookbooks. The restaurant is located in an old carriage house, and boasts a full bar and upstairs and downstairs dining area. Service is extremely professional.
Babbo's menu includes a lot of things one might not normally eat. Tripe. Lamb's tongue. Testa. Sweetbreads. As Lewis Black would say, "I sense some of you pulling away from me." But follow along as the Baron takes you through one of his best dinners in the past year--and not just because he was sitting with an exquisitely beautiful southern belle with a penchant for yoga:
Chef's amuse: Crostini with chick peas and olive tapenade. Delicious, and the Baron doesn't even like black olives.
The wine list: Again, Mario is a co-owner of Italian Wine Merchants, so the list draws on a vast resource of top-flight Italian varietals. If you like Italian reds, this is the greatest list you will ever see outside of the Old Country. Quinterelli Amarone Riserva from 1976? Are you kidding? Barolos. Brunellos. Wines from Sardinia and Sicily. Obscure wines. Great wines, including the evening's Montefalco Sagrantino.
Appetizers: Most of the Baron's party jumped right to the primi, but you might try the five autumn vegetable salad with goat's milk ricotta and pumpkin seed oil, or perhaps the grilled octopus with borlotti marinati and spicy limoncello vinaigrette. Limoncello--it's not just for getting soused anymore.
Primi: Black pepper papardelle with wild board ragu. Mario's papardelle is homemade (of course) and seems nearly as wide as a lasanga noodle. The wild boar likely comes from noted game purveyor D'Artagnan. Oustanding. The Bucatini all' Amatriciana and spaghettini with spicy budding chives, sweet garlic, and one pound lobster are also worth your while.
Pumpkin "Lune" with Sage and amaretti. Half-moon shaped agnolotti (similar to a ravioli, just shaped differently) stuffed with pumpkin in a sage butter sauce. The waiter completes the dish by grating an amaretti cookie on top of the pasta. Inspired, yet sublime. Ever have a cookie grated over your pasta? Bet you haven't. A must-have at Babbo.
Secondi: Spicy two minute calamari, Sicilian Lifeguard Style. In his Babbo cookbook, Mario readily admits that he has never met a Sicilian lifeguard. The calamari is served in a spicy tomato broth with olives, currants, and other interesting tidbits. Reflecting the heavy North African influence on Sicilian cooking, the dish also incorporates cous-cous. Many spots in Sicily serve it instead of pasta.
Deconstructed Ossobucco for two with saffron orzo, cavolo nero and chestnut gremolata. Each veal shank is about the size of a human head. An unappetizing comparison, perhaps, but also accurate. Fork tender and rich enough for the most discerning veal aficionado. The saffron orzo, silky and rich. The black cabbage spiked with a citrusy note. An outstanding rendition of the Italian classic, and perhaps unsurpassed in the States.
Cheese course: robiolo bosina, taleggio latte crudo, and parmagiano reggiano. You love the cheese course. The Baron does not want to hear Alan Richman grouse about the cheese trolly. The Baron loves the cheese trolly. Very, very civilized. Of course, one might prefer the chocolate hazelnut cake with orange sauce and hazelnut gelato, or perhaps a saffron panna cotta with peaches and lemon balm. If you see an olive oil cake, order one.
Digestif: something needs to burn through the food. A local variant of Fernet Branca from the Veneto had the color of caramel and the wafting aroma of military-grade jet fuel. Satisfying and effective. Pay no attention to those who eschew grappas and fernet. Philistines! You need this stuff to burn a hole through all the food sitting in your stomach.
One wonders whether Del Posto will become Mario's new favorite, but early indications are that Babbo will retain the mantle. As the Michelin Guide would say, worth a special trip.
Mario Batali. You know him, don't you? Red hair? Ponytail? Khaki shorts and orange clogs? Perhaps you've seen him cooking on the Food Network, speaking to his guests and to you with a hint of condescension. Perhaps you've seen him traveling through Italy eating things you would kill your first born to taste. It could be that you've seen him pull a rabbit out of his hat on Iron Chef America by coming up with some ridiculously rich veal and ricotta meatball concoction in a matter of seconds. Or maybe you have one of his cookbooks sitting on your shelf. But if you are really fortunate, you have eaten at one of Batali's Manhattan restaurants. Please do, as Mario probably needs to buy a new Vespa.
If you have no idea what the Baron is talking about and the notion of getting on an airplane to go eat is alien to you, there is an Olive Garden down the street. Enjoy.
Still here? Mario is one of the top chefs in the U.S. Don't be fooled by the television appearances and the marketing. Mario knows his business, and his restaurant empire--Babbo, Esca, Otto, Lupa, Casa Mono, Bistro du Vent (and the just-opened Del Posto)--is impressive in its consistency and quality. True, Mario is not, and could not possibly be, in the kitchen all the time. But his imprint is unmistakable, and he trains his underlings well. The Baron has seen Mario coming out the kitchen at Babbo on more than one occasion, though Mr. Batali gives the Baron a wide berth. There was an incident involving some infused grappa, and, well that's not important right now.
Babbo is of course the flagship restaurant. Opened in 1998, Babbo is located at 110 Waverly Place, close to Mario's other outposts, and mostly critically, close to the basement cellar at Italian Wine Merchants (of which Mario is a co-owner). Babbo snared three stars from the New York Times, and only missed a fouth (unheard of for Italian restaurants) for relatively minor quibbles like the crowded bar area (true) and the loud rock music that incongruously plays from the speakers (also true, but not entirely unwelcome--Babbo is not the place for Sinatra or Dean Martin). But surely you can handle some Franz Ferdinand as you dig into your marinated fresh sardines with caramelized fennel and lobster oil. And good luck getting a table. One needs to call promptly in the AM exactly one month prior to the desired reservation date. Or you could try calling in the early afternoon on the day of, hoping to slip in on a cancellation.
The room is cozy and civilized--lots of dark wood, wine bottles, mood lighting, and copies of Mario's cookbooks. The restaurant is located in an old carriage house, and boasts a full bar and upstairs and downstairs dining area. Service is extremely professional.
Babbo's menu includes a lot of things one might not normally eat. Tripe. Lamb's tongue. Testa. Sweetbreads. As Lewis Black would say, "I sense some of you pulling away from me." But follow along as the Baron takes you through one of his best dinners in the past year--and not just because he was sitting with an exquisitely beautiful southern belle with a penchant for yoga:
Chef's amuse: Crostini with chick peas and olive tapenade. Delicious, and the Baron doesn't even like black olives.
The wine list: Again, Mario is a co-owner of Italian Wine Merchants, so the list draws on a vast resource of top-flight Italian varietals. If you like Italian reds, this is the greatest list you will ever see outside of the Old Country. Quinterelli Amarone Riserva from 1976? Are you kidding? Barolos. Brunellos. Wines from Sardinia and Sicily. Obscure wines. Great wines, including the evening's Montefalco Sagrantino.
Appetizers: Most of the Baron's party jumped right to the primi, but you might try the five autumn vegetable salad with goat's milk ricotta and pumpkin seed oil, or perhaps the grilled octopus with borlotti marinati and spicy limoncello vinaigrette. Limoncello--it's not just for getting soused anymore.
Primi: Black pepper papardelle with wild board ragu. Mario's papardelle is homemade (of course) and seems nearly as wide as a lasanga noodle. The wild boar likely comes from noted game purveyor D'Artagnan. Oustanding. The Bucatini all' Amatriciana and spaghettini with spicy budding chives, sweet garlic, and one pound lobster are also worth your while.
Pumpkin "Lune" with Sage and amaretti. Half-moon shaped agnolotti (similar to a ravioli, just shaped differently) stuffed with pumpkin in a sage butter sauce. The waiter completes the dish by grating an amaretti cookie on top of the pasta. Inspired, yet sublime. Ever have a cookie grated over your pasta? Bet you haven't. A must-have at Babbo.
Secondi: Spicy two minute calamari, Sicilian Lifeguard Style. In his Babbo cookbook, Mario readily admits that he has never met a Sicilian lifeguard. The calamari is served in a spicy tomato broth with olives, currants, and other interesting tidbits. Reflecting the heavy North African influence on Sicilian cooking, the dish also incorporates cous-cous. Many spots in Sicily serve it instead of pasta.
Deconstructed Ossobucco for two with saffron orzo, cavolo nero and chestnut gremolata. Each veal shank is about the size of a human head. An unappetizing comparison, perhaps, but also accurate. Fork tender and rich enough for the most discerning veal aficionado. The saffron orzo, silky and rich. The black cabbage spiked with a citrusy note. An outstanding rendition of the Italian classic, and perhaps unsurpassed in the States.
Cheese course: robiolo bosina, taleggio latte crudo, and parmagiano reggiano. You love the cheese course. The Baron does not want to hear Alan Richman grouse about the cheese trolly. The Baron loves the cheese trolly. Very, very civilized. Of course, one might prefer the chocolate hazelnut cake with orange sauce and hazelnut gelato, or perhaps a saffron panna cotta with peaches and lemon balm. If you see an olive oil cake, order one.
Digestif: something needs to burn through the food. A local variant of Fernet Branca from the Veneto had the color of caramel and the wafting aroma of military-grade jet fuel. Satisfying and effective. Pay no attention to those who eschew grappas and fernet. Philistines! You need this stuff to burn a hole through all the food sitting in your stomach.
One wonders whether Del Posto will become Mario's new favorite, but early indications are that Babbo will retain the mantle. As the Michelin Guide would say, worth a special trip.
posted by TheBaronOnTaste at 7:55 PM
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