Morandi

My friend FunStar and I have been trying to get together for dinner since I left my previous job almost two months ago. Like BeanieBaby, of Cowgirl fame, she's been very eager to be written up in the blog.

"What's my name going to be?"

"When are we going out to dinner so I can be in the blog?"

"I WANT TO BE IN THE BLOG!"

On more than one occasion, FunStar cracked me up with her emails and comments similar to the ones above. I wonder if she realizes I only get close to 200 hits a day, and to be mentioned in my blog is no big deal. Frank Bruni will not be calling to take us out to dinner, Mario Batali will not be inviting us to a chef's tasting, and this post will sadly not be appearing as a column in any food and wine publications. Nonetheless, FunStar, if you're reading this, I hope you enjoy your debut post!

A few months ago I started subscribing to Urban Daddy, or rather, I had to e-mail them for an invitation. The process was pretty ridiculous. I'm not sure what they looked at, and what their prerequisites are, or how I passed them. But about a month after I asked to be invited to receive their e-mails, a daily Urban Daddy e-mail began to appear in my inbox. Urban Daddy is the stepbrother of the flirty and ultra girlie Daily Candy e-magazine. You can subscribe to daily e-mails from both, confirming you're not missing a tasting, a restaurant or store opening, a sample sale, or as posted in a recent Urban Daddy mail, the chance to rent yachts on a weekend basis.

I am not a huge shopper, nor do I have enough money to spend on yachts, but for some reason I find Urban Daddy much more useful than Daily Candy. One week I read my Urban Daddy e-mail and shrieked with excitement at work.

"What's up, M?"

"Phone, phone, where's the phone, how do I dial out??"

Keith McNally, of Pastis and Balthazar, was opening another restaurant. Morandi would be serving Italian fare in the village. I immediately grabbed my phone, made my first personal, out-of-office phone call and tried making a reservation. I dialed and repeatedly got busy signals. Everyone else just read the same Urban Daddy e-mail, apparently. I fidgeted at my desk and tried to double task. I e-mailed FunStar as I held the phone on my shoulder, and cursed my archaic phone for not having automatic redial.

Surprisingly, after only about fifteen minutes, I got through. Thank goodness. I am the first to admit I cannot walk and chew gum at the same time. My seatmate, ClarkKent, laughed and made sure to point that out. FunStar responded and was psyched about my choice. Game on!

I left work early to make it to Morandi on time for our six o'clock reservation. I know, who eats at six o'clock? I wasn't thrilled about the time, but it didn't matter. For the first time, I was ahead of the curve, and eating in a new restaurant that had just opened.

I walked in and was immediately welcomed by the hostess and the glowing warmth inside. The ceilings were low, I noticed stone on the walls and at my feet, and the wooden beams made it feel cavernous. Atmosphere in a restaurant is what gets me off the bat, and while I loved Morandi's dark, intimate feel, the rustic Italian setting seemed slightly forced. I was tempted to feel the stone on my fingers to test if it was faux-rustica.

I beelined for the bar straight ahead and squeezed in on one of the last remaining stools. I read about a cocktail you shouldn't miss and when I asked the bartender which one it was, he gave me a solid reply, "All of them." I started off with a dirty Goose martini then went on to a sweet and sour berry bellini. The bartenders at Morandi were young, adorable and very very friendly. It was so refreshing. I bonded with Peter and told him I would return to Morandi just to sit at the bar and eat with him. I also mentioned I admired his uniform. Him and his partner in beverage pouring were sporting white jackets, almost like lab coats, with shirts and ties underneath, and they had MORANDI embroidered on their chests. They looked really smart. I wonder what it'd take for me to get one of those.

FunStar arrived and the hostess immediately came up to me and walked us to our table. The staff was extremely catering and friendly. I'm sure I could have sat down without FunStar, but I didn't want to leave the bartender or the friendly businessmen I was chatting with.

We sat at a small table next to the windows. Morandi's windows are frosted, but FunStar kept pointing out lone walkers on the street who would put their eyes up to the small strip of clear glass. Had I been facing them, I would have motioned with my hand to come on in and enjoy the friendly atmosphere.

Our server came to the table and asked FunStar if she cared for a drink. It took him several minutes to bring her her cocktail but we had bread to nibble on in the interim.

The menu was small and manageable. We immediately picked out a few things we thought sounded good and went from there. Our server asked if we'd care for some prosciutto.

"Of course!" We both chimed in unison.

FunStar and I neglected to look for it on the menu as we mistakenly thought it was something they serve all their patrons. This wasn't the case. I let out a muffled yelp when I saw it on our tab at the end of the night. The prosciutto di Parma con gnocco fritto was a whopping $16. That was more than what my entree cost. While it was scrumptious, and we especially enjoyed the fried gnocchi dough, which tasted like a softer and chewier version of a fried wonton, we felt slightly misled. Don't think it's like they're offering you complimentary water or salsa. The prosciutto and cheese plate is a meal in itself, so expect to pay for it.

For my entree, I chose the pizzoccheri al forno, per the server's suggestion. When I asked him what it was, he explained it was an Italian version of mac and cheese. It was made with buckwheat pasta and baked with cabbage, speck and Bitto cheese. It was extremely rich which helped me eat it slowly. I was nervous I wouldn't like the buckwheat pasta, being a homemade pasta snob, but with all the ingredients and rich cheese, the pasta could have been undercooked, overcooked, or rice-a-roni and I wouldn't have known the difference. Speck, I later learned, is a variety of cured ham even more flavorful than prosciutto. I will now be inquiring at my local Italian deli for Speck.
When I saw meatballs on the menu, I decided we'd order a side to share. Man, was this a smart decision. The polpettine alla Siciliana came with pine nuts and raisins and they were piping hot. I've never tasted such a dynamic meatball. I hope I haven't offended my Dad or his family's name when he reads this. They were a little blackened on top, which I loved, and the meat was juicy. The sauce poured over them was even delicious and thick.


Below was our dessert. I didn't think it could get better after the meatballs, until I tried the frutti di bosca. It was like a gourmet bomb, covered in razzle dazzle berries. FunStar and I were fighting over the last bites. Just look at the lava-like berries pouring off this thing. I'm not sure which I liked better, the crepe part or the berry part.


My friend BeanieBaby isn't the first one to tell me the one problem with my blog.

"M, you like everywhere you eat!"

Many of you may agree with this assessment. I laughed and admitted she was right, and I took this into consideration while dining at Morandi. I was really hoping that I'd leave thinking, "Stick to the French bistro, s'il vous plait, Monsieur McNally." But quite the opposite happened, and here I go again with another positive review. The farmhouse setting may have felt a little over the top and like I said earlier, like faux-rustica, but there was nothing faux about the dishes and their flavors. And the staff couldn't have been more amiable. I was reminded of my disastrous introduction to the Waverly Inn (see BeanieBaby, I have written something sour) and thought, rudeness and arrogance are not prerequisites to a restaurant opening.


211 Waverly Pl., at Charles St.
212-627-7575