Bar Martignetti

The first time I went to Bar Martignetti was about eight months ago. I met Winette and her husband for a cocktail on my first of several stops one summer night.

"You will love this place," said Winette. "The waiters are all hot and preppy and their uniforms are bright Polos and popped collars."

No matter where she goes, Winette is always scoping out the wait staff for me. If there aren't any good-looking gentlemen for browsing, she'll probably leave it off our "to do" list. I'm not sure how the cat got out of the bag -- that I'm a sucker for all things preppy, from Barbour jackets to Top-Siders to madras -- but Winette knows me pretty well.

I showed up to Bar Martignetti (shaking head in hand) after walking about ten avenues too far east and having to re-trace my steps. The corner of Cleveland Place gets me every time. When I walked in, as Winette suspected, I was in a daze. The waiters were awfully cute, even if in a Euro kind of way, and yes, sporting every color of Lacoste that's found in a child's Easter egg basket. During the summer, all the windows are open fully and according to Winette, no matter how hot it gets outside, there is always a cool breeze blowing through the restaurant. I felt like I was in Monaco, or somewhere on the Cote d'Azur. The view from inside wasn't quite the Mediterranean, but with a little imagination and a few drinks, anyone can be transported.

Unfortunately, I only got to drink and ditch that day. I scored a perfectly blended dirty martini, a few nice smiles from the bartender (pictured above) and time with Winette. I looked forward to going back with friends to fully experience what goodies, besides eye candy, it had to offer.

When I returned from my extended Christmas break in Cali, I had a slew of birthday parties to go to. It was a great way to ease back into the real world and put my January blues on temporary hiatus. One of the birthday events was LittleMissSunshine's.

I had a swim meet that weekend and was on the fence whether I wanted to join the festivities. I reasoned it was going to be harder for me to have dinner and leave the party animals than it would be to just stay home and avoid the whole night altogether.

"What? Mona's going to miss out on a party because of a swim meet? That's a first!"

"Mona staying in on a Saturday night? I never heard of such a thing!"

"I didn't know anything could stop you from partying on a Saturday night!"

These are just some of the e-mails I was slugging through the week prior to dinner. After much deliberating between me and the birthday girl and several of our other friends, I gave in. As soon as I showed up to smiles, excitement and gratitude on behalf of the birthday girl, I was happy I did.

We had the money table, in the front right hand corner as soon as you walk in. Well, we thought it was the money table until some idiot hostess kept leaving the door wide open on one of the coldest nights of the winter. By the end of dinner, we were all waiting for the check in our winter coats and scarves, like we were enjoying apres-ski cocktails.

Our server was a cute young guy who was a little intimidated by seven hot girls at one table. I tried to lighten him up a little bit but I was unsuccessful. I did mention that there was a birthday girl among us and that she needed some special attention and he heeded my advice. In winter the staff forgoes the pastel Lacostes for crisp white button-down shirts and preppy ties of green and blue. It was mid-January, but they left up the Christmas lights--which I loved. I made sure to mention to our server how festive it was, no matter how long after Christmas. I hate when places race to take the lights down at 2 p.m. on New Year's Day. Let them breathe a little in the new year is my philosophy.

We ordered a few things for appetizers: peekytoe crab dip with avocado and crostini (two orders) and the "best mac 'n cheese ever." The crab dip was excellent -- not too fishy which I often dislike, but enough crab that you got some in every bite. I probably would have liked the mac 'n cheese better if I got to taste the crusty top, but I got the bottom of the small bowl. Restaurants serving mac and cheese should really make it in a flat casserole dish so there's more surface area for bread crumbs and crispy burnt cheese. That's just my humble opinion.

Fashionista went for her fave --risotto. I'm not a huge risotto fan -- it's too soggy for me, like oatmeal that's too watery. She insisted it was yummy.

LondonFoodie ordered the steak tartare with pecorino, jalapeno and arugula. I loved Bar Martignetti's version of tartare. The jalapeno was a nice touch to what can be a bland dish.

FoxyLady ordered a burger and when it came to the table I had my usual burger envy. When will I ever learn? If someone in my group orders a burger and I do not, I always regret not following suit. It was juicy and sandwiched in between a big buttery roll. Delish.

I ordered toast and frites...

with a side of mussels in wheat beer with jalapenos. The mussels were on the boring side. I was excited to experience the wheat beer/mussel duo but it was bland. I've had better mussels elsewhere. Half the battle with mussels is scoring a tasty broth to dip them in, along with bread and fries, but this broth did nothing for me.

The girl next to me ordered a lobster club with avocado, watercress, bacon and fries. I didn't taste it but she said it was just OK. I think of lobster clubs as summer food. I wouldn't have thought to order one in the dead of winter.

GoldenGirl ordered the butternut squash ravioli in a butter and sage sauce. The portion was really small but GoldenGirl said it was perfect because each ravioli was so rich.

And last but not least, the birthday girl ordered her share of scallops from the appetizer menu. Look at this perfect bird's eye view.

I am impressed at how everyone's pictures came out, seeing that for the first time I threw my camera in the middle of the table and said, "Pass it around!" Most of the crew is used to it by now, but there were a few newbies who were forced to play along.

Our server surprised LittleMissSunshine, and myself, with a candle and this enormous cookie sandwich. I would come back to Bar Martignetti for just an after-dinner drink and this dessert. There were four pieces and between the seven or eight of us I think we managed to get a decent helping. I wonder if they sell these separately. Think soft, chewy, chunky chocolate chip cookies with cold, brain-freezing ice cream. Does it get any better?


For the size of our party and the amount we consumed, we were taken very good care of. Our server didn't have one slip up the entire night. Bar Martignetti offers a lively atmosphere for party-goers and there are plenty of solid dishes for all tastes. As we walked outside and said our goodbyes I was happy I ventured downtown to celebrate with LittleMissSunshine. I would have preferred to follow the sequined party dresses and sexy heels to the next destination, but I knew I had to get some rest before my race the next morning. Had I been able to foresee the sluggishness with which I competed (I went eight seconds faster this weekend, which is half a pool in swimming, just so you understand how slow I really went), I would have stayed out, partied with the best of 'em and sucked it up the next day. But alas, it wasn't my day that day, it was LittleMissSunshine's, and at least I got some QFT (quality friend time) to show for it.

206 Broome Street, corner of Broome and Cleveland Place
212-680-5600

to keep reading

Psych-Up Dinner #1

I've been a swimmer my entire life, or at least since I stopped crawling on all fours. Mom threw me in a swimming pool in Los Altos when I was two. I fluttered and spun my arms in an outdoor bubble through tears and misery with Mrs. Thomasello until I was old enough to stay afloat and make my way across the pool. It wasn't but a few years later that I earned the coveted "Swimmer of Tomorrow" plaque at my summer team Covington Critters, a six-year-old's equivalent to an ESPY award.

Fast-forward 22 years, and here I am, still fluttering and spinning my arms across the pool, just a few suit sizes bigger. I'm a day away from a championship swim meet and feeling the same jumpy jitters I felt before diving into the six and under 25-yard butterfly two decades ago.

From Michael Phelps to Eli Manning, every athlete has his or her pre-competition routine, some more superstitious than others. It usually revolves around a certain uniform, an inspiring playlist, mix or song, psych-up movies a la "Rocky" or "Prefontaine," a favorite workout, or an energy-packed meal. My routine included all of the above, with a special focus on the meal. Shocker. I know.

Pre-meet meals were always a big to-do in my family. Mom would cook up loads and loads of spaghetti and marinara sauce the night before a big swim meet. I'd stuff myself so much that I feared not being able to fit into my racing suit, which traditionally is a good two or three sizes smaller than what you train in. The thought was the higher the carbs the higher the success. Of course, today we all know this to be an old wive's tale, but I don't plan on switching up my carbo-loading anytime soon. To me, it's more like comfort carbs than performance-enhancing carbs.

I'm not trying to make cuts for the Olympics or NCAAs and my team isn't going for its third straight ACC title like we were my third year at UVa. But I do still want to swim fast for myself and my NYAC teammates. In order to achieve this goal, I've been very good this week (read a sober professional). I went all out with a Sunday fun day, so I could happily be on the wagon until this Sunday's after-party at Brother Jimmy's. When I say all out, I mean all out. My Sunday itinerary included the following: brunch at Public, beers at Zum Schneiders, beers at Horseshoe Bar, sandwiches at Katz's, drinks at Max Fish, drinks and dancing at Pianos. Starting Monday, I began eating relatively well for all my meals.

Last night, in order to avoid eating bologna and cheddar cheese slabbed on top of each other (no bread), I ordered a salad and a smoothie from Crepes on Columbus. I ordered the tropical salad with organic mesclun salad, baby greens, oranges, mango and hearts of palm in citrus vinaigrette. I was debating between that and the Mediterranean salad and the girl on the other end of the phone suggested go tropical. I was glad I did. I normally can't handle meat-less salads. I always ask for chicken. But this veggie-friendly salad was so fresh and tangy I didn't miss a thing. And the citrus dressing was spot on: the perfect amount of sweet and tart. It came with a half-baguette, which was a nice touch, but it wasn't the freshest tasting bread I've had. The butter and extra dressing didn't help that much either.

We have no fruit in the house so I ordered a smoothie. This put all smoothies I've ever tried to shame. I ordered the red mango one with mango sorbet, strawberries and mango juice. I felt so good after drinking it I felt I could jump in a pool right then and there and bust out with a record-breaking 100 breastroke. My second delivery from Crepes on Columbus was a huge success.

P.S. No I did NOT eat this last night. This was a picture of my first delivery from Crepes on Columbus on one hungover Sunday. The crepe was a little thicker than the ones I grew accustomed to in Paris, and the nutella wasn't as thoroughly melted as I like, but I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it lost its freshness in its delivery voyage. It certainly didn't stop me from inhaling the entire thing. I'll just have to try the crepe in house next time.

Tonight I head with a few friends to Serafina for psych-up dinner #2. Let's hope the pasta is al dente and the sauce is thick. I was once named the "Swimmer of Tomorrow." Let's hope I still can be.

990 Columbus Ave., between
108th & 109th St.
212 222-0259

to keep reading

Tisserie

Now that I've had my blog for a little over two years, I get more and more e-mail solicitations from PR companies and people wanting me to try their clients' restaurants or products. For the most part, think "special menu" galore from a lot of not-so-special restaurants. Once in a blue moon, I receive a book review request and within a few weeks a beautiful new cookbook appears jammed into my tiny mailbox. I haven't wanted to turn my blog into a book club quite yet, but who knows, maybe this year I will be culinarily inspired to hack away at a few recipes from said books. Morimoto is staring at me from my bookshelf and he's not amused, nor would he be with my attempt at recreating his rock shrimp tempura.

A couple of months ago I received a very sweet e-mail from a girl wanting to introduce me to a cafe in Union Square called Tisserie. For once I didn't delete the e-mail immediately and was curious to see what this place was all about. (E-, if your bosses are reading this, tell them you sold me.) After going to Tisserie.com and reading about it briefly, I decided why not. I was on my later evening shift (which I am no longer on, thank goodness) and I was dying for lunch dates. I made one with E- and met her at Tisserie one deceptively sunny but cool winter day.



I'd never seen anything like it in New York. Tisserie is the Alain Ducasse of fast city food. Every inch of space in the bright, two-storied cafe was filled with rich and beautiful delights. I looked in one display after the next, row after row and my jaw continuously dropped. I felt like Gretel did when she looked at the witch's house in the forest covered in candy. I wanted to snatch every thing up in the counters and run off to a corner in Union Square Park, forget the trail of breadcrumbs, and eat to my heart's content. E- was about half my size and I was already dying of embarrassment of what I was going to eat for lunch, in order to give as thorough a review as possible, of course.



If there are five food groups in the food pyramid, they're all present in almost every individual dish you can possibly order at Tisserie.

"So what were you thinking, Mona?"

"I really have no idea where to even begin."

E- let out a chuckle and I thought to myself, no, really, this may take a while. I kept pacing and pacing, back and forth, between displays of soups and quiches and sandwiches and desserts, wanting to try everything.

Upon further consideration, I decided to go for the gusto.

We tried this special Venezuelan bread, pan de jamon, per E-'s recommendation. It looks like a slice of an ocean wave, but it tasted much better. It's packed with sodium (ham and olives) but the bread itself is actually sweet. I'm not going to lie the look of it scared me a little bit but I really enjoyed it.



Here we have a little potato cake. Think warm potato salad in a cute little tart-shape with melted cheese on top. This was one of my favorites.



And the piece de resistance. A smoked turkey sandwich on this ridiculous bread with onions and cheese. I don't know what I liked better -- the outside of the sandwich or the inside. There was so much going on I loved it.



Last and unfortunately least, we tried the blue cheese and tomato quiche. The middle was a little runny for my taste. I love love love blue cheese -- lay it on me and lay it on thick-- and I didn't taste the blue cheese as much as I would have liked. Two of our items came with a small salad and it was covered perfectly in a very light, but tangy, vinaigrette.



As I sat a la Christmas Carol's Ghost of Christmas Present, struggling to fit in this feast of food in front of me, I noticed some incredulous stares at the five dishes squeezed onto our table. I kept thinking, "Man, I hope I don't run into anyone I know." Then mid-shovel, one of the founders of Tisserie, Morris Harrar, came over to introduce himself. I died. I didn't know E- well enough to ask if I had any food remnants hanging on my nose or chin, or in between my teeth, but I got by with a wing and a prayer. The chef coming over to talk to me? I had my own mini- Gail Simmons moment. He was a sweetheart and was really enthusiastic to meet me and hear about my blog.

I learned he came from Venezuela, studied cooking in France and was very excited, no, make that giddy, about his success at Union Square. I won't be surprised if a couple more of Harrar's creations pop up in and around the city. He was already talking about the possibility of opening up a cafe in a fancy department store. I won't mention which one for fear of jinxing him if the project is still in the works. Harrar was clearly passionate about what he does and his happiness and good spirit were contagious. I wanted to quit everything and work for him, not only because of his energy, but because of the energy of his entire staff. E- seemed to have a few friends behind the counter and one of them was kind enough to prep me my own little dessert box. On the outside I was declining politely, but on the inside I was screaming, "YES! YES! YES!" I tried my first tiger eye, and it will not be my last -- a little cakey cookie with a drop of chocolate in the middle, and the rugalah and chocolate diamonds were also a special treat.



And one more thing. E- casually mentioned as we were about to walk out that Tisserie was written up in the Times as one of the best places for hot chocolate. You can't just say that and not expect me to want to try some. So, I ordered one. I couldn't finish it it was so rich, like someone just melted a bar of Valhrona and poured it in a cup. Forget the freshman fifteen, I left lunch with the Tisserie ten, proud and happy, but suffering from a slight food coma.

857 Broadway, at 17th Street 212-463-0850

to keep reading

The Anti-V-Day List

Ok, fine. I admit it. I'm a fair-weather Valentine's Day friend. I like 2/14 when I'm dating someone. I dislike it when I'm single. There. I said it. Don't let anyone tell you different because they're lying. That is, if they're female.

What's not to like about receiving flowers and cards, lingerie and chocolate (maybe even lingerie that is chocolate), being showered with attention, and being wined and dined on February 14? The anti-Valentine's Day argument is if you're in a serious, healthy relationship, this should be happening every day of the year. Fair. But if you've ever dated the romance-starved species of man like I have, you know they often need the excuse to go and fetch some romance, if slightly faux and contrived. A little printed reminder on the calendar never hurt anybody.

For guys, Valentine's Day is a win-win situation. If they're in a relationship, they're bound to reap the benefits the card-giving, flower-finding and candy-splurging Valentine's Day brings out in them. If they're single, they're also bound to reap the benefits, but of the hordes of like-minded girls living it up and partying "just wanna have fun"-style. I plan to do so tonight at the Sunburnt Cow, the cousin of my favorite Aussie hangout Bondi Road. There's nothing like an all-you-can-drink special, '80s music and good company to make you forget that you're single on Valentine's Day.

I've seen plenty of top ten lists of places to take your Valentine, things to buy your Valentine and places to eat with your Valentine. But what's out there for us singles in the city? Think of this as the anti-Valentine list. After all, not all of New York will be paired off this evening. Find some fun, relax and embrace your independence at some of my favorite spots.

10. Safe to say, head to any restaurant that's not in the Time Warner Center. Every Tom, Slick and Harry will be trying to impress a special someone, whether it be a wife, girlfriend or mistress at one of these restaurants tonight. But you, you will know better.

9. Defy romance with a big, messy burger at J.G. Melon's. It's packed, there are few two-tops and the bar always has plenty of spots to watch your favorite sporting events. Don't forget the waffle fries.

8. Go grab some gritty Chinese food in Chinatown at Wo Hop.

7. Cozy up to some cute prepsters and cold pints at White Horse Tavern. But leave the plastic behind. They only want you for your cash.

6. Like New York City, Tortilla Flats is the party that never sleeps. Yes, you may run into the occasional bachelorette party, but you can't help but get sucked into the atmosphere and the delicious margaritas.

5. If you're planning on heading home straight after work for some QT with the couch and your latest in Netflix arrivals, log onto the delivery Site Seamless Web and order yourself some SuperMac. I recommend the four cheese mac with ground beef.

4. Solo, but feel like getting dirty and devilish? Order one of The Spotted Pig's famous black martinis. They're delish, especially when followed up with some devils on horseback.

3. Treat yourself to some sweets at Magnolia Bakery. Now that the bakery has two Manhattan locations, you have no excuse not to enjoy its deliciousness. If cupcakes aren't your thing, try the banana pudding. If cupcake's the thing, go buy yourself some red velvet. It comes close to being better than any love you might find in the bedroom.

2. Go find some cute surfers and good eye candy at Ditch Plains. Enjoy some white wine with a side of mussels and frites. The booths are so big you'll barely notice the couple making out in the corner.

1. Take a walk down a deserted alley and you'll discover one of my all-time favorites. Try the artichoke dip, steak and the St. Germain cocktail at Freemans. The atmosphere is so chill you could sit at the bar with a book and a pad, drink, and enjoy a hearty meal with or without your buddies.

Enjoy your night everybody! I'm off to go get Sunburnt.

to keep reading

Spotted!

Top Chef judge and Food and Wine's Gail Simmons.

Where? Carebear's birthday dinner at Allen and Delancey, 115 Allen Street, between Delancey and Rivington

And it's not the first time. She follows me everywhere! Last time I ran into her at the 'cue line at Hill Country.

The judge was sitting directly opposite me and my four friends at a table with two pretty ladies. They were having a feast similar to ours, while sipping on their Delancey cocktails. The Delancey features my friend's cocktail, St. Germain, but I told the waiter, had I been with CalGal and Spirit, they would have been disappointed. The prosecco totally squashed the St. Germain sweetness, so much I asked for a side of the elderflower liqueur to add to my cocktail. Our server Graham happily obliged.

Ms. Simmons was looking very pleased with her meal, as were we. And she even got to shower her praises directly to the chef, who took a seat at her table for a good solid fifteen minutes. I was a little jealous.

Full review to come...

to keep reading

SBXLII Roundup

Today at 6:17 p.m. the New York Giants take on the New England Patriots, in what may be history's most-viewed Super Bowl ever.

I am headed to the Dream Hotel for the festivities and thought I'd put up a few recipes and party ideas I've found for the last-minute planners.

-For those heading out for the big game: Eater's SB dining guide

-The Fifth Down's Dip Nation

-BBQ experts' Super Bowl feast

-Something sweet? Try Anna's marshmallow snowballs.

-If your crew is sophisticated and drinking wine instead of Miller Light, bring a bottle of this Chardonnay.

-What's a football party without deviled eggs?

-Put another shrimp on the...macaroni?

-White Trash's suggestions for wings, heroes and chili...oh my!

-Fritters, fritters, fritters

-And for kicks, make sure you think twice about double-dipping in your friend's seven-layer dip.

Oh and GO GIANTS!

to keep reading

Malatesta

I hadn't seen OakGirl in roughly five years. One of the last times I saw her I was fighting for a hug goodbye from her crowded deck in La Jolla, Calif. It was the end of her beautiful wedding weekend and I wished her a happy honeymoon and that we would see each other soon. I've been to about fifteen weddings in the past seven years since college and hers was easily one of my top three favorite wedding weekends. I suppose I'm partial to the California wedding, but everything about it was fun: the guests, the parties, the location and most importantly the couple.

Losing touch with close friends is a reality I'm facing and having a hard time coping with in my soon-to-be third-life crisis. Perhaps it's that time of the decade. At the end of our teens we go through the anxiety of losing our high school friends. Two years short of 30, am I due to go through that same anxiety of losing friends, but this time losing those from college, and losing them to husbands and children? As I walked home the other night, saddened by the lack of voicemails and text messages I had received that day, I felt a heavy sense of loneliness. Maybe it's because 2008 seems like it's gotten off to a ho-hum start, or maybe because it's been nearly two years since I've met anyone who excites me in a way Swimster did four years ago this Super Bowl Sunday. Whatever the reason, it made me resolute in my efforts to try and reconnect with friends I've distanced myself from unintentionally over the past several months.


When OakGirl told me she was coming to New York for the big D's birthday I was thrilled that we'd be able to reconnect. OakGirl, like so many of my lasting friends, was also a swimmer. We were rivals in our 80s Speedos-fallen goggles-snotty-nosed-lycra caps phase of our careers, only to become teammates ten years later, once my family moved back from Europe. From the moment I met OakGirl, I wanted to be her friend. She was intelligent, confident, her laugh was contagious and I wanted to be in on whatever she was conspiring. Throughout high school, this usually involved snaring boys on the pool deck of our Connecticut swimming championships with our fast times and flirty smiles. We were pros and to this day we still get a kick out of certain names and certain "hot" teams we ogled over when we were supposed to be focusing on our swims.

The party was at a German bar Zum Schneider's, in honor of D's German ancestry, a few weeks before Christmas and OakGirl came to town with her husband. OakGirl, FoxyLady, BermudaBabe and myself all swam together for the same swim team in Conn., while OakGirl swam with her husband, Swimster and Warrior in college. Ah, it's a small swimming world after all...

Zum's is one of my new favorite bars in the city. It was crowded but not so crowded that you couldn't get service at the bar. The whole place was decorated with light-adorned garlands hanging from the walls for Christmas. They were a little rough on us about taking up too many tables, which I did not understand, but we made the most of it. Half of us sat against the window at a table and half of us took over the bar. I hovered over a table eating sausage-heavy plates and I decided I would come back on another occasion for a meal. D's night was about catching up with old friends and celebrating. Food was secondary, hence our grabbing a to-go slice of pizza en route to the next bar.

The rest of the night after Zum's is a bit fuzzy. But I do know when I said goodbye to OakGirl we mumbled about doing brunch on Sunday. That was extremely ambitious. When I woke up the next morning all I cared about was Gatorade, the couch and the mysterious bruise on my right calf. I spoke to OakGirl on the phone and she said not to worry, she would be back in the city in a couple of weekends.

On her next visit, OakGirl stayed with another one of our former teammates, FunnyGirl, whom I now swim with at the New York Athletic Club. We were in the locker room one day laughing at ourselves, 20-somethings, and still struggling through swim practices. We agreed if you asked us ten years ago if we'd ever become masters swimmers we would have laughed in your face with a bratty, "Yeee-ah, RI-yeet. No way!" And here we were smelling of chlorine, skipping sets for the hot tub and booking our social calendars around weekend swim meets.

"Meet us at Malatesta. It's around the corner from my apartment," said FunnyGirl.

"Mala-what?"

"Malatesta."

"Where are we going?" asked FoxyLady.

"Mal-something."

Weird. I'd been to FunnyGirl's apartment a handful of times and never heard of it, never seen it, never noticed it. And with "mal" at the beginning of the name I couldn't help but think of something bad or negative. Interesting name for a restaurant.

FoxyLady and I ran into the girls crossing Washington and we exchanged hugs movie-style in the middle of the street. It was our reunion, so what if we were a little overexcited? The last meal we all ate together was probably a pasta dinner or a bagel breakfast at YMCA Nationals in Florida in 1997.

We spoke to a server and the next minute we had the best seat in the house. There were two tables on a slightly raised level to your immediate left when you walk in. It was fitting, with our resident comedian, to be on our own mini-stage.

I was sucked in right away. The tables were covered in brown paper-- the kind Dad used to wrap my history and science books in in middle school-- and the specials were written on a clipboard covered in the same brown paper with a little clothespin attaching the menu to its board. They left carafes of water on the table, along with bread and olive oil and the menus were written in chicken scratch. I hadn't put anything in my mouth yet and I already loved this place.

"Good choice, FunnyGirl!"

Our server came right over and we ordered a bottle of wine and a couple of appetizers, thanks to FunnyGirl's suggestions. I kept thinking how lucky she was to have this jewel of a restaurant across the street from her apartment.

We started with the grilled calamari over a bed of lettuce with balsamic vinaigrette

and the prosciutto and parmesan salad.

We were all fighting for every last bit of salad on both plates. I don't usually care for grilled calamari but this was excellent. The pieces weren't so thick that it tasted like you were eating something that was not meant for the dinner table. And the parmesan salad in the shape of a starfish up top was simple but great. The parmesan and prosciutto were cut in thinly shaved slices and the dressing was just light enough to taste both.

For the main dishes, FunnyGirl went with the spaghetti alla chitarra, or spaghetti with chopped tomatoes, chunks of basil and mozzarella.
I tried the tagliatelle al ragu, or pasta with tomato sauce and ground beef.


OakGirl tried the gnocchi.

And last but not least, FoxyLady tried the cheese ravioli in a pink sauce.


I'm sitting here on my couch, with a deep chest cold-- the kind you have to cough in order to breathe. I called out sick to work at 6 a.m. and I'm rotating between cocktails: Zicam and Airborne. Nothing's working. But I think if I had these dishes in front of me I would be cured. Much like I believe cupcakes could bring about world peace, I believe pasta could cure all diseases.

I did not try a pasta I did not like at Malatesta. The spaghetti had a robustness I'd never tasted before, except maybe at Babbo. The sauce was so perfectly made there wasn't a single drop of excess water that fell to the plate. It stuck like glue to every inch of pasta and the melted gobs of mozzarella. In all the years I've been eating pasta, how is it I've never tried pasta with melted mozzarella chunks? My tagliatelle was just as good as the best I've ever had at my family's favorite trattoria in Chatou, France. It had the perfect ratio of sauce to sweet meat to pasta. And as for the gnocchi and ravioli, my only complaint was there wasn't enough ravioli for me to have my own doggy bag and heat it up for lunch the next day. OakGirl looked like she was struggling with the gnocchi portion and I selflessly offered my assistance.


The four of us were giddy in each other's company. It was like we had too much to say and not enough time to get it all in. A lot has happened over the past few years and, as my roomie FoxyLady reminded me as we sat on the couch this week during a woes 'r us session -- what a difference a year makes. What's great about true friends, and what I realized in seeing OakGirl again, is that a friendship isn't measured by phone calls, texts, minutes or voicemails. It's measured by moments. A true friend is someone who you can lose touch with, and when reunited, you pick up where the last hug goodbye left off.

I got to see OakGirl three times in one month and we promised not to let it go years before seeing each other again. If you asked us in high school if we'd ever stop being best friends we would have laughed in your face and said, "Yeee-ah, RI-yeet." Ask me now, with miles between us, and I'll still say the same thing.

649 Washington St., at Christopher St.
212-741-1207

to keep reading