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