Back to BABBO

Babbo is located on Waverly between 6th Avenue and Washington Square West and I walk past it several times a week on my way back home from school. Every time I pass it my body tingles a little the way your body tingles when you see someone attractive through a train window pulling away from the station—oh how magical it might be, if only if only if only…

Don’t get me wrong. Unlike the mysterious person through the train window, I’ve done Babbo. I’ve done it twice. (Both times with Lisa: first reviewed on Chowhound, second time reviewed (by way of an epic poem) on here). I’ve declared Jean-Georges the best restaurant in New York, but I think Babbo’s my favorite. I love Babbo.

So Lauren came today. Hi Lauren! She’s here doing work on a case for her big new law job in DC. Lauren in Atlanta was always a bit reticent when it came to fine dining because we LIVED together and we ate many many meals together so it was hard to justify spending mucho dinero on just a Wednesday night meal. But now that we live THOUSANDS of MILES apart (ok it’s just a 3 hour train ride) random city visits merit special occassion meals. Tonight we had many options before us, but I had my heart set on Babbo–and since Lauren had never been there, I practically insisted on it. We were not disappointed.


The first thing you should know is that we did not have a reservation. We simply walked in. This is good to know because Babbo has an intimidating reservation system. You call, you wait, you press buttons, you wait some more, you press more buttons, and finally you talk to someone. That person will most likely tell you they are booked for the entire month. You hang up and drop out of society, having lost your will to live.

When my brother came to town a few weeks ago, I wanted to take him to Babbo. I experienced everything described in the preceding paragraph, gave up, and took him to Home and Film Forum instead. We had fun.

But tonight I recalled something I read somewhere (perhaps by Steven Shaw at eGullet?) that the best way to get into a hard-to-get into restaurant is just to show up. There are cancellations, there are tables at the bar. And that was precisely the case tonight at Babbo. Lauren and I walked in at 8:50 (we came from a one-man show on the life of Tennessee Williams at school) and the host told us a table at the bar would only be 30 minutes. We said “woohoo!” and gave our name.

At the bar, I made Lauren have a bellini. Both times I’ve been to Babbo, we’ve had bellinis at the bar. Tonight’s bellini was prickly pear: it was red in color and sweet and tart and delicious. Lauren, I believe, enjoyed hers too.

The bar scene was crowded. I turned to Lauren and said: “How would you desribe the people here? Fancy? Yuppy?”

She stared at a weird looking couple and said: “Men cheating on their wives.”

I thought that was funny.

Soon (a little less than 30 minutes, actually) a hostess came and got us and sat us at a table right in front of the bar. A hard-to-please person (like my mom, for example) would have said “unacceptable!” because the table was in a throng of people waiting for their own fancier non-bar tables. But we took ours gladly and I actually enjoyed the hustle and the bustle and the people-watching.

Let’s talk about the music here because Babbo’s music is something of a sensitive subject for those who read Frank Bruni’s 3-star review a few months ago in the Times. Bruni marked Babbo down for the loud rock music that disrupted his meal. I had the completely opposite experience: I felt like the rock music enhanced the meal because it was so eclectic and unusual for such a highly lauded dining establishment. Radiohead blasted overhead–“Karma Police”–and I felt like this place wasn’t for my parents, it was for ME! Young people! Us!

Seriously, the music gives Babbo a mystical vibe. It’s spiritual rock: Radiohead, Coldplay (I’m not suggesting that Coldplay’s on par with Radiohead, but they did play some Coldplay tonight)—music that can be aggressive but also ponderous and magical. Like when the bells come on at the end of “OK, Computer”: that coincided with the arrival of our appetizer, and the feeling was that of an ancient food ritual carried out in a futeristic society. I asked Lauren if she agreed and she said, “I’d prefer Italian folk music.”

*****And now for the food…****

First we were presented with an amuse (as the French would say) or “a gift from the chef” (as our waiter said): chick pea bruschetta. Here’s Lauren modelling it for you all:


She looks a little nervous. “I look scared,” she agreed, surveying the picture after taking it. But after tasting a chickpea her mind was set at ease. “Mmmm,” she said, “I like chickpeas.” The bruchetta had a great balance of textures and flavors—the crustiness of the toast, the bite and the creaminess of the chickpeas and the snap of the vinegar and oil. A great beginning.

Then for our first appetizer: Goat Cheese Truffles. I’ve asked this question before, but I’ll ask it again: how pretty is this picture?


Seriously, it looks better than the picture in the Babbo cookbook.

The concept here is that balls of goat cheese are rolled in different coatings. The one on the upper right is smoked paprika, the one on the bottom is cracked black pepper and–most unusual–the one on the upper left is fennel pollen. Lauren tried that first, not knowing what it was and she seemed a bit nonplussed. “That’s fennel pollen,” I explained. That didn’t seem to help.

But she regained her composure with the other two flavors. “I like the smoked paprika and black pepper ones a lot,” she concluded. I was left with the fennel pollen which I gladly consumed. It tastes like mild powdery licorice. It’s not for everyone. But I do think it’s cool that it’s pollen.

Now then, the pasta course. You can’t go to Babbo and not get pasta. I made Lauren get the pumpkin lune because you have to have the pumpkin lune when you go there. She kvelled over it: “Mmmmm,” she moaned, “this is so good.” It is SO good. I dare you not to like it!

I took a bite of hers and snapped a terrible bleachy picture of the half-eaten lune on the fork so you could see the filling. Behold!


[It just occurred to me: this is my first time to Babbo with my new camera. How lucky for you, then, right? In terms of vicarious eating, that is.]

For my pasta, I had the beef cheek ravioli. It’s not particularly photogenic, but it is beautiful to eat:


It’s very rich and very dense. There’s liver in it, which gives it weight. I liked it—I think I’d like it more on a freezing cold winter’s night. It’s that sort of pasta. It ain’t heavy, it’s my pasta.

Now then, the main courses…

Lauren had the duck. I’ve had the duck before and you can see pictures if you click the link to my second Babbo post. She really enjoyed it. That’s understood.

I had the lamb. This lamb must have been sacrificed at a temple because it was the most succulent, delicious lamb I’ve ever tasted:


The outside was charred perfectly and the inside melted in your mouth. It was so tender. There were hints of rosemary and other flavors. The pile in the middle featured peas and mushrooms and whole pieces of mint. This dish was a knock-out. 4 stars. A lamb for all seasons.

But hold on. We’re not done with our hyperbole yet. Our greatest Babbo moment has yet to arrive. Can you feel it? Can you sense it? Do you know what’s coming?


I was very stern with Lauren when it came to ordering dessert. “WE ARE ORDERING DESSERT,” I said definitively.

We were given our dessert menus and I yielded to her to make the decision.

“I’m so full, Adam,” she said, “you decide.”

I know Lauren likes chocolate. It was between pistachio semi-freddo with chocolate ganache and Italian donuts. The waiter steered us towards the former and


I am printing a picture of this dessert and putting it in my wallet. We were practically licking the plate by the end. How to describe it to you?

The semi-freddo itself was like a frozen, lush, creamy whipped cream without all the air. It’s dense but not so dense. It’s like a custard, but not so eggy. And it’s redolent, here, of pistachios–glorious pistachios–that go so well with the chocolate, it’s like heaven itself ordained this dish. I have no idea what’s on the outer rim of the plate (honey? syrup?) but all these flavors combined make this the best dessert I have experienced in the latter half of my life. Every dessert from the age of 13 onward has paled in comparison to this one. This is the dessert I want before I am executed for the murder of some-yet-to-be-determined innocent victim. In fact, I’m more likely to carry out a murder if it means this dessert will be my last meal. Oh, this dessert… sigh…

is the meal over? I guess it is. The check arrives. Lauren and I strike up an interesting conversation.

“You know,” says Lauren, “it’s amazing but for the price of this dinner we could have bought two iPod shuffles.”

Aha! A debate ensues! Temporal gratification vs. worldly goods; the intangible vs. the tangible. How do you quantify a meal at Babbo?

“You can’t put a price on experience,” I say, whimsically but perhaps profoundly.

Lauren agrees. We pay our bill–chat with the host (“Thank you for coming,” he says to us most kindly, as if we did HIM a favor by filling a much sought-after table) and walked 18 blocks back up to my apartment. Another perfect, priceless evening at Babbo.

25 thoughts on “Back to BABBO”

  1. I have been wondering about this for some time…how can you afford to eat out at all these fabulous restaurants as a student? Does NYU has a secret student restaurant scholarship? ;)

  2. Betsy: Have you not heard of the Must Be Nice scholarship (a.k.a parents who pay for everything)?

  3. e, that’s not really true—I do have generous parents, but they don’t pay for my spur of the moment fancy meals. While my financial situation is private, this site definitely helps in that regard. Last night’s meal, for example, was paid for by Google. Thank you, Google. I owe ya one.

  4. Wow, so this site actually helps finance your culinary adventures, which you then get to post on the site again. What a wonderful setup!

    But two iPod shuffles? DAMN. I thought that was more Ducasse territory. Guess I won’t be able to afford Babbo for a while yet.

  5. Mike (I’m like the answer man today), I think we overdid it a bit. You can go to Babbo and have an appetizer and a pasta or a pasta and an entree and just scratch the surface of an ipod shuffle (which I’m presuming costs $100 each, right?). We went nuts and threw in drinks and dessert and coffee (coffee, by the way, was $4 a cup! nuts!) so everything added up. But it’s definitely not Ducasse territory if you budget correctly.

  6. Oh boy. Now I feel that I need, truly need beef cheek ravioli. Even more, I need those lamb chops, succulent, crispy, perfectly cooked. I love lamb. And I wouldn’t say no to the pistachio-chocolate hoo-ha extravaganza, either. I would say yes, again yes. All I know is, I’m being taken out to dinner tonight at a hot new venue, and they’d better have something as good as what’s in your pictures, AG. And I wouldn’t mind if they were playing Radiohead either…

  7. Oooh ok. I forgot that the Shuffle was the $99 dollar player. I was thinking of the mini and assumed you guys dropped $500+ on a dinner for two. How silly of me!

    100 bucks isn’t too bad, about how much I spent at Luger’s and Delmonico (both total splurges and treats). I will definitely try out the method of just showing up to a hard to reserve spot since it worked out for you. I always assumed the host would laugh in my face and book my foreigner butt back to Jersey if I tried it.

  8. I definitely wasn’t trying to pry; my comment was meant to be tongue in cheek. Hooray for Google! *goes off to click an ad for you*

  9. Well, if I had known that clicking on the adverts would mean more of Adam’s reviews, I would have clicked away more often! This is truly a win-win situation. (One of the adverts was actually quite useful! This one: Great Australian Gourmet Food Recipes, Hints & Tips, Specialities )

  10. Which ads do we click to finance your awesome reviews? Seriously, you rival the New Yorker and New York Magazine reviewers!

  11. Are you all crazy???!!! Making the amateur gourmet defend himself for spending his very own money at Babbo????!!! We ARE talking Babbo. Besides, most Americans spend way more money on gas and car insurance than the average urbanite spends on fancy meals per month. Thank goodness for the NYC automobile (our feet) and fancy restaurants. Now THAT is a good living and a long life….

  12. ehm, so we don’t have to really buy anything, just open a new tab for the ad, you get the money and then you eat and then you write about it? I just clicked them all!

  13. Seriously, you need to be honest about the ads. They don’t pay for the vast majority of your eating out. That ONE meal, perhaps, but I run a corporate website that uses Google Ads and gets about 35 times the traffic of this site, and all that revenue wouldn’t pay for a Babbo meal more than once or twice a year.

    I also think you’ve got to be ready to field questions about your finances, considering the amount of dining out you do, the places you tend to eat, and the fact that you’re a student at one of the most expensive universities in the US and you’ve also just finished law school. It does make people wonder.

  14. Please guys. This is all very tacky, this talk about finances! It’s so funny, the U.S. has become so earnest in its quest for an egalitarian society that it has come down to this – If we all can’t go to Babbo, none of us should go!!!! Babbo for the people!!! Let’s revolt!!!!

    Give me a break. I feel happy just to look at those gorgeous pictures from one of the most famous restaurants in the U.S. Thank you Adam, and please do not stop your fine dining! I hope I’m not alone in that I really could care less if you are independently wealthy or in massive credit card debt! I say, keep up the good work. Fine food blogging for the people! It makes me happy.

  15. I’m sorry Eddie, your post just grossed me out. Mr. A.G. provides this fine service for FREE to the public, and you are sitting there acting as if the “people” are entitled to know A.G.’s personal business.

    Again, so tacky, and I’m sorry Amateur Gourmet for getting a bit pissy here, I know it’s not the style of your website.

  16. Bea, Go back and re-read what I said. I never said I wanted to know about his finances. I said that I thought he was being dishonest about the Google Ads income and that he should be prepared for people to ask him these questions. That’s what I said. You read the rest into my comment.

    I also think it’s a little naive to say that Adam is providing a service to the public for free. He’s been open about wanting to be an “Internet sensation” for a while now, so he even admits that there’s more to it than altruism.

  17. I knew it! I suspected you were a male escort a long time ago Adam…’splains everything.

    Seriously, though, your website rocks, you rock and how you finance your lifestyle is nobody’s business but your own. I love having a backstage pass to all of your wonderful gourmet adventures and your April Fools Day prank was priceless!

  18. As those of us with G-ads know, we’re not supposed to talk numbers. But, if Google has been as proportionally good to a site as beloved as Adam’s as it’s been to me… then no way is he being dishonest, and my site is just a speck amongst the dust on the edge of the universe.

    And don’t forget that not all clicks are equal, not even on a single site. A popular and heavily-linked site covering a topic of interest to much of the planet with many readers who visit deliberately and regularly (AG) may draw advertisers with more cha-ching than a corporate site.

    And yeah, financial talk is tacky. Let’s get back to the food – Eddie, what’s your favourite recipe for sour grapes?

    (teasing, teasing…)

  19. adam.

    thanks for taking me to babbo – i haven’t made it yet, and have been debating whether it’s really worth it… well, perhaps next time…


  20. I just read your original Chowhound posting. It was great! My only question – do you frequently use different monikers to hide your identity when making reservations?? My best friend is famous for using the name name Van Wudenclogen because we are from Holland Michigan. None of the Dutch people ever get it. Just a suggestion. Keep on eatin!

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