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