Lupa Osteria Romana

I had two things on my mind that night: MaineMan and Miami. I was headed to Miami for the weekend with seven of my closest girlfriends for the big 30th birthday blowout celebration. Meanwhile, I was crushing hard on MaineMan -- a surprising, sweet, adorable boy I met at my friend Warrior's wedding a week and a half prior in Aspen.

Winette wanted to squeeze in a meal and one of our infamous lush and gush sessions before I flew south for the weekend and as it was my birthday week, Winette generously offered to take me wherever I wanted. She knows I love Mario Batali so Lupa was a surefire yes.

I walked in, flustered and out of breath from the workout-to-subway routine, and found her sitting comfortably at the bar. She had successfully snagged our favorite spot at any bar -- the corner posts. We were wining and dining early, but the dining room was surprisingly packed and there wasn't a lot of room to meander in the small, compact Roman trattoria.

"We have a reservation to sit at a table. We can do whatever you want. Do you want to sit at the bar?" She asked, waving one arm and wielding a glass of wine in the other. If the glass spoke it would have been screaming, "Put me down! Put me down!"

"Bar sounds great! Let's do it."

"Are you sure? We can do whatever you want. Do you want to sit at a table? The bar? It's YOUR birthday!"

"Let's do the bar! You know I love the bar just as much as you do."

"Well they have a table. I want you to do what you want to do!?"

"Girl, you're hilarious! I'm fine. Sit! We are barring it!"

She spoke with the hostess and minutes later I was ordering an individually-sized carafe of wine from a good-looking bartender.

I've been so distracted lately I can barely function. My day-to-day routine has evaporated into thin air, along with my head. Is this how it feels? How do people carry on with their lives as usual when they're starting out in new relationships? I'm so excited I can barely sleep at night. I'm so giddy I can barely talk in full English sentences. I'm so happy my face is now a permanent, blinking, smiley emoticon.

A friend of mine at work today asked me how I was doing.

"Gooo-hoood?" I said, transforming the one-syllable word into a two-syllable word and answering as if it was a question. She took the bait.

"Well, why the hell are you so gooo-hoood?" She imitated my exact delivery and I was smiling like an idiot.

"I know why. It's MaineMan, isn't it? God, I knew that's why you've been so smiley lately. Sheesh." I guess this means normally I'm a frowning, angry sourpuss.

Ever since he left me in Aspen, he's been all I think about. Wake up, check to see if he texted, e-mailed or called. Usually he's done all three. Go to work, wait for him to sign on AOL IM and wish me, "Good morning, beautiful." Call him when I leave work. He tucks me in at night. It's all amazing. If I've made any mistakes over the past few weeks -- whether it's crossing the street too early, spilling water or missing a breaking news alert -- it's because I'm under the influence. Viable excuse in a court of law? Probably not. But it should be.

Winette and I drank several swigs of our wine before we placed our order. I caught her up on everything, from beginning to end, about Warrior's wedding, NavyHawaii, MaineMan, in the words of Yul Brynner from "The King and I" et cetera, et ceteraaaaa.

Winette was excited for me. Incredulous, maybe, but she didn't show it. No matter how many guys I throw at her, how many stories I dump on her, how many times we stack up the SCU then shred it to start over, no matter how spastic and ephemeral my loves in life are, Winette always grins and bears it.

"Soooooo?! When is he coming here?"

"Well, he has a wedding in October. Friend's getting married in Greenwich. His parents said he could stay with me. He'll be here in a month! AH!"

"He's so cute, Winette. I don't know, it's crazy."

"Wowowowowow! How perfect!! He sounds guh-RATE!"

"Ha. That IS correct. He is great. He is..."

The bartender placed some napkins down as placemats and we got excited for the food about to come to our laps. The first was warm, light and airy focaccia with olive oil. I couldn't stop eating it.


SMACK!

"Oh. My. God. Winette. It's Mario. He's here. He's here. Behind you."

"Whaaat?!"

We both huddled closer to the top of the bar like we were hiding from him. Childish. We just didn't want him to hear us freaking out in his presence.

I whipped around to watch him depart in his signature orange crocs with two gangly, young boys in tow. I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve who'd just seen Santa.

"I can't believe it. How perfect for your birthday! Mario was here? What are the chances?!" Winette shrieked.

I was speechless.

"Hold on... one... " and she was out the door. What the heck was she doing? Please tell me she wasn't getting him to come back inside. That was not like Winette. She's awfully shy and not one to go stalk a celebrity, except if it was Jane Gooddall, Shamu or Jack Hanna.

Oh my freaking God. Don't tell me.

Fifty-five seconds later she flew back into Lupa.

She thumped her hand on the bar counter. "Here!" She said, with a big grin on her face. If I was the girl who saw Santa she was the one who just kissed him.

"What is THIS?!"

In my hands was the Lupa business card and in orange-markered, chicken scratch Batali wished me a happy birthday.


"I told him to sign this for you."

"You WHAT?!" I was dying. Truly dying.

She stopped him and told him she didn't normally do this to which he replied, "Yeah, sure you don't." She then told him about me and that it was my 30th birthday and that I was a huge fan and if he could sign the card, it'd be great.

"But I don't know this Mona person," he said.

"It doesn't matter."

Now hanging on my wall, along with U2 and Bill Cosby tickets, is my Batali birthday card. What a month to remember!

There were too many items on the menu that looked good. We ordered a hodgepodge of items and to Winette's surprise, I wanted only veggie options. I've become a vegetarian. I don't eat meat anymore on a daily basis, unless I'm invited to a famous steakhouse (Peter Luger's with the 'rents) or I'm craving a hamburger. Before I considered a meal incomplete if I didn't have some huge portion of protein. Now I don't even miss it.

The first course was a trio of Lupa's antipasti. We ordered the beets with pistachios, broccoli rabe with ricotta and sweet corn. I felt like I was eating vegetables that had just been picked in a garden out back. Each bowl was simple and bright with flavor. My favorite was the mouth-watering broccoli rabe. I am normally a fan of less is better with the bitter-tasting rabe, but paired with the ricotta I forgot what I was eating. The rabe was drenched in the warm soft cheese and every bite was better than the first.


Winette and I also shared a sweet corn ravioli-type pasta and gnocchi with marinara sauce. I checked the handy Lupa glossary to see if I could find the technical term, but could not. The pasta was clean and light. There was no extraneous sauce or toppings. It was as if the pasta was built in a coating of each accompanying sauce. The dishes weren't as rich and heavy as the creations at Babbo. The sweet corn reminded me of Batali's love letters. The gnocchi were like little puffy, diced cubes. The fork sank in and almost bounced right back out. Mmm.

Winette and I go overboard on wine and bread-dipping so we are always keen on small portions. If you're starving and looking for big plates, you may want to reconsider. We barely put a dent in the selections at Lupa and I have since read great reviews about their fish and pork shoulder. Lupa didn't amaze me or tear my belt like dell'anima did, but I enjoyed Winette's company, that of the friendly bartender who incessantly wished me happy birthday and the broccoli rabe so much, I hope to return for another helping of all three.

170 Thompson St., near Houston St.
212-982-5089

to keep reading

dell'anima

I always ask CalGal what her favorite restaurants are and I get the same response. I know her and her hubby Spirit (owner and creator of St. Germain) are eating at some of the best spots in the city, after all the best spots are the ones that serve cocktails with his liqueur. Disclaimer: If you read my blog and still haven't gone out to purchase a bottle, I may need to rethink our friendship.

"Have you been to dell'anima yet?"

"No. What is that?"

She'll then go on to explain that one of Mario Batali's underlings (former sommelier at Babbo) and a Del Posto vet opened it two years ago and it's a runaway hit and one of her stellar faves. I have half a brain to build a Batali "family tree" and eat at all of the places on each branch.

"So... got any new places for me to try?"

"Have you been to dell'anima yet?" She said yet again.

"Ha! OK. No. This is getting to be quite ridiculous. I'll make it happen."

I checked off a couple of items on my bucket list in September leading up to the big 3-0 and I'm happy to say I was able to cross another one off just a day over 30. Finally. Now when I ask CalGal about restaurants I can say, "So where should I eat... besides dell'anima?"

FunnyGirl was unable to attend my birthday extravaganza in Miami and to make up for it she offered to take me out to dinner instead. I tried to convince her if the whole point of not going to Miami was a lack of funding her idea was preposterous. That is, until she threw in the "I-have-a-gift-certificate-you-don't-have-a-choice" card. Please. Twist my rubber stomach.

She threw a few places at me and once again, like a broken record, I heard, "Have you been to dell'anima?" Jesus Christ.

"No. But I'm sick of being ignorant. Let's go."

The plan was set. Dinner at dell'anima Monday, September 28 at 6:15.

I went home after work that day to take a nap -- a feat that's rarer than a piece of sushi -- due to my Miami birthday rager-induced exhaustion. Despite my ungodly wake-up time, I am not a napper. I won't give you the entire Miami recap, but it did involve two-mile walks to and from bars at 2 a.m., swimming in party dresses and consequently being kicked out of the Delano (before proceeding to continue to go out in said - now drenched- party dresses with nothing more than the Miami heat to dry us off), and the incredible afternoon(s) of poolside day drinking followed by a live drag show at the Palace Bar on Ocean Drive.

I was worried I wouldn't have the energy to make it to dinner, but thoughts of a yummy meal and catching up with a friend were my Red Bull.

I walked into the subway on 103rd and Broadway and left a calm, gray sky behind me. If I were a weatherman I would have said, "Slightly cloudy, chance of precipitation 15%." I walked out of the subway at 14th Street and 8th Ave., however, to a black sky and the strongest downpour I'd seen since the New York summer of rain ended. Thank god I opted for my sturdy umbrella, though it did nothing more than block the rain from hitting the part on my head.

I ran around struggling to find the corner of 8th Ave. and Jane Street until I spotted it and a chef standing outside a small doorway in his whites. I could barely make out the awning above him before I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Without even a second thought I rushed past him and burst into the back of the restaurant. The water had crawled about eight inches onto my jeans and I felt like a wet doormat. After about five seconds I turned around and realized what I'd done.

"Oh sorry, that's not the entrance..."

"Nope, it's the bat cave, but that's cool."

I'm such an idiot. I walked past the open kitchen and the empty chef's counter and managed to walk casually to the front of the restaurant (thank god it was so early it was barely filled). The hostess looked at me cross-eyed, but luckily FunnyGirl came to my rescue, dropped that we had a reservation and we were good to go.

The place was small and packed with bar seats and tightly-packed tables. It was the perfect cozy spot for a rainy night. I recommend reservations on the earlier side as the space between bar seats and tables isn't conducive to waiting and milling about.

"Can we sit at the chef's counter?" It was empty and I thought it would be fun to socialize/watch the men at work. Not to mention I could try to redeem some essence of coolness after I'd popped in the back door of the restaurant like a penguin pops up onto a glacier in Antarctica.

"Sure, no problem."

A petite brunette snuck up behind us -- I almost jumped -- and asked us if we wanted drinks as she was handing us the cocktail menu.

"Uhh... I think we'll need a minute."

I prefer having a moment to breathe and settle before being pounced on, but maybe that's just me.

I had expressed my excitement for eating at dell'anima on Twitter and whoever runs the dell'anima Twitter feed responded immediately telling me what to order. God I love communication tools of the 21st century:

@dellanimanyc wrote: "Trofie primi & Pollo 'al diavolo' secondi are crowd pleasers. Try our new fall cocktail L'autunno & let us know what you think!"

L'autonno is made with St. Germain, Calvados, Ramazzoti Amaro, lemon and cinnamon.

"I'll have one of those, please."

It was spicy and delicious and even had a nice fall, rusty red color to it. I don't know how I'd ever recreate it at home but I want to try.

FunnyGirl ordered the Amerena crush with Junipero, Luxardo Maraschino, fresh lemon and muddled amarena cherries. She was a bit hesitant at first but after a couple of sips it grew on her.

"Delish."

FunnyGirl asked about Miami, I asked about her trip to California and we both asked the chef for some of his recommendations. We could have asked the waitress, I suppose, but why not seek guidance from the hand that was about to feed us.

We started with the bruschetta. One avocado, one ricotta and sea salt, one pesto, walnuts and pecorino. Sea salt and ricotta make everything taste good so this was my favorite. Simple and delicious. The avocado was doused in olive oil. Don't expect guac here. It was just a smooth, pulverized avocado spread. A little on the bland side, but easy for double-dipping. The nut spread was probably my least favorite. It had the texture of a hard tapenade and I'm just not a huge nut person.

After our scrumptious cocktails we switched to wine. I'm not really a connoisseur and when I'm out with friends, there's no science to picking bottles other than what's the cheapest bottle that's not Pinot Grigio or Syrah. Unless I'm being treated, I'd rather just spend my money on the grub.


The second course was the fegatini alla Toscana, or chicken liver spread. I wished they'd been more generous with it. I'm a big fan of liver pates/spreads and their intense flavor, but I didn't really get that from the thin dose here. The best part was the dollop of balsamic and onion on the side that sort of made up for the sparse spread.


CalGal told me to try the octopus and I couldn't wait. I love octopus. The best I've had in the city was at Peasant and Babbo. This was charred and served with rice beans, chorizo and chicory. I felt like the octopus was a little on the dry side, but I loved its accompaniments and still managed to kill every last bite.


And now for the pieces de resistance. The pastas. Oh. My. We went for the malloreddus pasta with braised goat, rosemary and pecorino...

and the trofie pasta with pancetta, tomato, shallots and rosemary.

We were throwing bowls around like we were in a game of ultimate frisbee. My turn. Your turn. My turn. My turn. OK fine, your turn. I couldn't make up my mind which one I wanted to eat more of.

And neither could FunnyGirl.


I'm Italian but I've never seen or heard of these pastas. I am their new biggest fan. Pasta to me is all about texture and these were both dripping in it. They were cooked to perfection too. The goat was a bit on the salty side but the sweet tomato sauce of the trofie made up for it. Wow. I need to find me some local malloreddus and trofie stat.

Just when you thought that was it. We ordered secondi, or this huge-ondi pork chop. The chefs stopped cutting and grilling and mincing to look up at us with eyes popping out of their heads.

"I know, it's a lot of food, but it's her 30th birthday," FunnyGirl assured them, as if that was our free pass to eat enough food for an eight-top. Us swimmers never seem to lose our bottomless appetites. At least FunnyGirl's training for a marathon. I don't really have an excuse.


I've never eaten a pork chop this juicy and tender in my entire life. Perhaps because I was raised eating brick chops -- the result when mom likes her meat well done. I barely had the room in my stomach to look at it let alone finish it but we did. I cut away every ounce of meat I could from the bones because I didn't want the flavors to end. I'm normally not a huge bean and lentil person but the sweet pork and saltiness of the bean mix was a great combo.

In between ravenous fits of engorging ourselves, we managed to squeeze in a few major life updates as well. Mine started with the Aspen wedding and ended with the pool in Miami. Hers started with a trip to California and ended with her dreams of moving to the West Coast.

"I need to save $9,000 to move out there," she said.

"What?!"

I have my own plan to relocate to the West Coast at some point, but had no idea it was going to take so much money. At that rate, I won't make it out there before 2050, and only then after moving to some Hickville Town, USA, where the cost of living is one one-hundredth of the cost of living here.

I told her about a special boy I met in Aspen, MaineMan, and like my luck often runs in Manhattan, he lives far, far away from here, i.e. Los Angeles -- a city you couldn't pay me previously to consider moving to. We have kept in close touch. He texts, e-mails and calls often - it's rare that we don't talk at least once every day -- and though my friends tease me about my endless excitement about boys, there's something different about this one.

"I'm not used to this, FunnyGirl."

"What? A guy treating you like you're supposed to be? I know. We live in New York."

"I mean, the stuff he tells me, it's just beyond sweet and romantic. Half the time I'm pinching myself. Is this for real? I even asked him that."

"And what'd he say?!"

"He said he didn't know he had it in him, but I bring that out in him."

"Mona, if you f*** this up, I will kill you."

"Pfffhhhaaaa! OK then."

I'm sure the chefs got a kick out of our tales of men, though probably not as big a kick out of how much food we consumed.

I am so thrilled I got to eat at dell'anima finally. And I can't wait for someone to ask me about some of my favorite restaurants. This will definitely be added to the list. Eating at the chef's counter is a must (if you can take the heat).

I followed up with FunnyGirl the next day, to thank her and to make sure she wasn't in a coma. She seemed to enjoy the meal as much as I did:

"That meal was truly outrageous. Truly truly outrageous. And I loved every minute of it."

"I think my favorite part of dinner, besides hearing about J- and our parallel lives and that we both may end up in L.A. was, 'If you f*** this up I will kill you.' Muahahahaaa!"

Her response?

"I stand by that statement."

38 Eighth Ave., at Jane St.
212-366-6633

to keep reading

Mystery Solved!

Thank you to Carebear for what was previously the anonymous $50 gift certificate to Whole Foods! I promise there was no note on it and it was driving me bonkers. I also promise it will be put to good use. My MaineMan is coming to visit in a couple of weeks and after losing a little contest we had I am making him dinner. Who knows, maybe I'll even blog about it...

to keep reading

Shake Shack - Citi Field

Shortly after Connor was killed in April, I e-mailed several of our mutual friends to see if anyone would be interested in a reunion/memorial of sorts at a baseball game. Connor played baseball at Princeton and as an Atlanta native, he was a pretty big Braves fan. The idea wasn't completely original. My roommates' beloved friend Matt Lynch was killed in Iraq in 2004 and each year a big group of his family and friends commemorate him by going to a Mets game.

It's been almost six months to the day that a taxi cab turned a corner and moments later, our 30-year-old friend's life was cut tragically short. Connor was a die-hard baseball fanatic -- and as his sister informed me -- he much preferred to play than to sit in the grandstands as a spectator. No matter, we knew he would have tried to get to at least one Braves game this season so instead we went for him. It took several back and forth e-mails and someone else taking the reins for it to all work out, but it did finally and here we are.

As a Yankee fan, I felt like a traitor getting excited about a trip to Citi Field; though as a New Yorker I felt like I'd be doing the city a service by experiencing the wonder and glory of both baseball fields.

We walked into the rotunda a couple hundred yards from the subway exit and I couldn't help but stand with my head up and twirl around like I did as a kid looking up at St. Peter's Cathedral for the first time. I tried to capture Jackie Robinson's famous quote above the arches, but the camera couldn't do it for me: "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."

I read the words first out loud and then once to myself and shook my head smiling as I gazed up. Hi Connor.

That night wasn't so much about the game or the score, though the Mets got trounced -- hey, at least they're consistent. It was more about Connor and catching up with friends who I hadn't seen since his funeral in April. We learned it was especially important to his sister that he not be the white elephant in the room. She seemed to be doing really well, though she expressed concern and frustration over the taxi driver's evasion of any sort of consequences for his actions. The 60-something-year-old Russian continues to drive customers through the streets of Manhattan without so much as a ticket or demerit for his irresponsibility that night.

Of all the stories we shared, I was most moved by KOG telling us she can't imagine getting married anymore. I looked at her in shock and couldn't understand this. Surely Connor would have wanted her to live life to the utmost and find someone to love forever in marriage. She explained to me that since she'd been a little girl she'd always pictured the speech her older brother would give at her wedding. She spoke so candidly and matter-of-factly about it it brought tears to my eyes. Of course. It made so much sense. Thank god Lion jumped in and told her it would happen someday and when the time came she'd be ready and her little brother MOG would step up to the plate for his big brother.

Apart from the many beers and toasts to Connor, we ate like fiends. My first round included a hot dog and some French fries from a local vendor by our seats. Nothing spectacular. I knew where Shake Shack was and I was determined to get there but I didn't want to be a nag. I would go when it suited the whole group.

Sooner than later Lion asked if I wanted to cruise over to Shake Shack.

"Yes, please! I'm dying to try it. My friend at work said we had to go on the earlier side too or the lines would be bonkers."

"You like their burgers?"

"I kinda think they're overrated. A bit like In 'n Out's in California but I'm willing to go in with an open mind and give them another shot," I said.

Citi, like Yankees Stadium, is very open and spacious. Despite there being a plethora of empty seats as the game progressed, I never felt claustrophobic like I did at the old Yankees Stadium.

There was a small snake of a line, but it only took about two minutes to walk through and place my order before one of the loopy ladies behind the counter shrieked my number.

"9-2-7!"

I grabbed my warm parcel and scurried off to find my friends standing and eating at one of the high tables.

"What's the verdict?"

They'd already unwrapped and started devouring and condiments and beer were strewn across the table.

"Mmm-phhfff-mmm," ShawDaddy said with wide eyes and a nod of his head.

"I take it that means good."


Et voila. The burger.

I dug in. It was the best burger I'd had in a long time. I was blown away. Blown. Away. The patty was the perfect thickness. It was juicy and rough around the edges, which I loved, and the cheese seeped into the burger's pores like it was almost a part of the patty itself. And the bun. Oh my god, the bun. Soft and chewy. The bottom bun soaked up the burger's juices which can be bad if it's too soggy, but this was perfect.

I'm in trouble. My office is a short 11-block walk from the Upper West Side's Shake Shack. I see more walks there for lunch in my future. Thank you for such a delicious surprise, Shake Shack!

After we downed our burgers and beers and made one last toast to Connor, we called it a night. I walked out of Citi happy on a full stomach, excited about burgeoning friendships, sad recalling Connor and his absence, proud to be wearing my new "Remembering COG" bracelet (think Lance's yellow Livestrong one but in navy), and hopeful for the future and that I may impact people as Connor once did and still does.

to keep reading