I had a very long press lunch at Scarlatto in the theater district today. The new chef, Roberto Passon, replaces Roman chef Camillo Bassani, who apparently was taken out of commission by a traffic accident while riding his Vespa. How quintessentially Italian.
I had a nice time talking to my companions, all women again, one of whom was a television producer for, among other people, Phil Donahue. So we talked about the evolution of daytime talk shows from Donahue through Oprah and on to the variety we have now. It turns out that another of my luncheon companions was on Oprah, talking about her book on battered women. I also learned a bit about clubs for the Italian-American 20-somethings in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. You know, from Saturday Night Fever (although that actually was Bensonhurst). I want to go.
Strangely, a normally nice and well-behaved newspaper editor, who also was at my table, yelled at the busboy because she thought her coffee was too weak. She said it looked like tea. He thought she meant that she’d like tea, which he dutifully brought her, so she yelled at him again.
I mean, it’s coffee. If it’s so bad, don’t drink it.
What I ate:
Bruschetta with mozzarella, porcini and truffle oil
Parmesan cup with fried artichokes, caramelized tomatoes and grated Parmesan
Wild boar fettuccine
Grilled branzino, straight-up with olive oil
Rabbit ragù with creamy polenta
And for dessert, profiteroles with chocolate sauce, ricotta cheesecake, tiramisu, panna cotta, espresso semifreddo and chocolate cake.