Scarpetta

Day 63 (4/20) of the T-90 Project:

Carbo-load: the act of stuffing one's face with breads and pastas in order to load up on fuel and energy to enhance performance in competition.

Nutritionists of the 21st century may balk at this pre-race ritual, calling it a silly routine of the past, and even a surefire way to hinder performance, but as a kid of the '80s who grew up on the pool deck, competing in swim meets 40 weekends a year, nothing helped me mentally prepare to kick a rival's butt like a big bowl of spaghetti the night before.

Fashionista suggested an evening of carbo-loading to get me psyched for my marathon. I invited a small crew to join me and we met at Scarpetta at six o'clock last Tuesday. I'd just finished one of my last short runs of the week, wondering how in the hell I was going to finish six times that distance in just a few days.

Scarpetta was nearly empty when we walked in. There was a casual-looking nook in the front, a long sleek bar to our right and in the back you could see the main dining room. Fashionista asked if we could sit despite our full party not being there and they said no. I get it if you walk in during prime time and the place is mobbed and they won't seat you, but at six when there are two other people in the entire restaurant, I don't understand the point or effectiveness of this policy.

When LittleMissSunshine and DaydreamBeliever arrived, we lingered for a few more minutes before the host finally led us to our table in the back. I came very close to approaching the podium and saying, "Hello? What is the deal?" Their lack of attentiveness was irritating and it reminded me of how I feel when I'm on a plane being held up and the pilot doesn't come on to tell you why, but instead you just have to sit there and go mad. The service improved tenfold once we were in our seats. The back of the house should lend some help to the front of the house...

We started the evening with various types of bread, olive oil, mascarpone butter and eggplant.


Each bread garnish had us oohing and aahing. Even the not-so-plain olive oil had a distinct delightful bite to it. I'd never had mascarpone butter before, but its smooth texture and sweet taste left me wanting to steal a brick of it.

We split the crispy fritto misto and I couldn't get enough of the lightly fried tendrils of vegetables and calamari. All was going well until LittleMissSunshine grabbed what looked like a veggie and it ended up being a little anchovy dusted in tempura. Doh! I probably unknowingly downed a few myself but they didn't bother me as much. The teepee-like presentation of this dish was almost as impressive as the flavors.

All the pastas sounded amazing and it was difficult to choose which one to go with, though my vegetarianism narrowed the list slightly. Fashionista had heard to try the spaghetti so her decision was easy.

LittleMissSunshine went with the tagliatelle with mixed vegetables and lamb. I almost ordered this without the lamb, but it sounded too much like noodle soup without the chicken.

I ordered the black tagliolini with mixed seafood, sea urchin and mint bread crumbs.

Fashionista and DaydreamBeliever chose the spaghetti with tomato and basil.

We passed around twirled forks and spoons of each pasta. I couldn't pick a favorite they were all so good. I'd had my first bite of black squid pasta at Babbo and this dish gave Mario Batali's a run for his money. Go Scott Conant! I was a little frightened of the sea urchin, but the white meat and its thin worm-like shape blended right into the pasta. The mint bread crumbs were a unique and sweet crumbly topping to this seafood pasta.

The spaghetti was rough around the edges -- a quality I seek in the homemade variety. The tomato sauce stuck to the pasta like melted cheese on pizza crust and one bite wasn't enough.

My favorite part of the whole evening was when our dishes came to the table. I felt like royalty at a medieval banquet. Four different men came from four different corners of the restaurant with our entrees. Each dish was placed on the table with a white dome plate cover. In ceremonial fashion, on cue, they unveiled all our dishes at the same time. The surprisingly simple but elegant touch had our eyes glowing with excitement.

We shared a bottle of wine between the four of us. I was really making an effort to consume as little alcohol as possible prior to the dreaded 26.2.

"Cheers, Mona. Good luck Sunday!"

"Thanks, guys. Eek! I can't wait until I get back and can be in normal party mode again."

"Me neither," said Fashionista.

"Amen to that!"

Scarpetta's Italian fare and (food) service was both warm and comforting, but the decor was a little stark and severe for my everyday tastes. Were it not for the skylight in the middle of the room I would have drowned of stuffiness. Scarpetta felt like a place you'd meet executives for a business lunch or somewhere you'd take clients to impress them, but it wasn't the kind of place you just show up and meet a friend for a casual dinner. Formality aside, I'd still say Scarpetta has some of the best pasta I've had in the city, but save it for a special occasion, like the pre-marathon carbo-load.

Thanks, Fashionista, for this great evening and great idea. I have the best friends of anyone in this city.

355 W. 14th St., near Ninth Ave.
212-691-0555