Babbo - Cheese - Italian - Love letters - Olive oil - Babbo

"We have to try this restaurant called babbo," said Swimster, nearly three years ago.

"Bah-what?" I asked.

"Babbo. It's sick Italian. Mario Batali owns it. It has the craziest menu. They have sweetbreads, tripe and testa," he said.

I had never heard of sweetbreads, nor had I ever heard of Mario Batali. For all I knew, his family designed Italian motorcycles. Wait, that's Marcello Ducati. But if Swimster said it was good, I believed him. This was coming from a young man who taught me about Chateau d'Yquem, Opus One and the Inn at Little Washington.

babbo, which is "Daddy" or "Papa" in a specific region of Italy, sounded too informal and silly to be a fancy restaurant-- especially one you had to call months in advance for a reservation-- and yet I was intrigued. Swimster and I never ventured to babbo for dinner, but we did stop in for an after dinner drink. The sampling of breadsticks and wine was a tease and I knew I would have to go back for more.

A couple months ago, BeanieBaby and I enjoyed margaritas and dinner at Cowgirl, and we discussed a plan to eat in as many good restaurants as we could before she moved to Boston for graduate school. One of the first restaurants she suggested we try was babbo.

To me, babbo stood for the impermeable and unattainable. I believed I could call as many times as I wanted and I would never get through. I thought it would sit on the top of my list of dream dinners forever, that is, until BeanieBaby e-mailed me and said, "We're in!"

I couldn't believe it. It was as if I had finally arrived. Not only was I going to eat in one of the city's, if not the country's, most famous restaurants, but I was actually making enough money to eat there and pay my own way. Jewish girls have their bat mitzvahs at 12, Southern girls have their debutante balls in their late teens, socialites have their "Sweet 16" parties, and I have dinner at babbo at 27. It's all coming together quite nicely.

I walked into work the day we had reservations and heads turned. I wore my cream tuxedo pants, high heels, I straightened my hair and I put on mascara. I looked like I was headed for the Metropolitan Opera across the street, rather than a day in the newsroom behind a dusty desk. It was quite a departure from my T-shirts, corduroys and bed-head.

"Dang, girl! Where are you going?" asked one of my co-workers.

I explained I was going out to dinner with some friends, and that it was a big deal to me, as a foodie. I told her about my blog and I am thrilled she has since started reading it. She happens to be our copy chief and I told her anytime she feels like editing my posts, I'd be in favor. Lord knows, I could use some help.

"I've never heard of it, but I hope I see pictures on your blog," she replied with a big smile.

At work all I could think about was babbo and the dinner we'd be enjoying that night. My friends and I wrote a slew of e-mails back and forth, one more excited than the next, and six o'clock could not come quickly enough.

I met Fashionista for a pitcher of $4 sangria (our newly discovered fabulous deal) at La Palapa before it was time for our reservation.

We walked into babbo through the crowded bar area and the place was buzzing. I noticed several people sitting at the bar had place settings -- this must be a convenient alternative to calling a month in advance for a reservation. It must also add to the waiting factor if you're looking for a spot at the bar. In addition to the hostess stand and coat check to our left, there were a couple of tables. According to BeanieBaby, one of babbo's well kept secrets is that you can eat at these tables without making a reservation. I would consider going this route if I wasn't claustrophobic. I can't stand eating at a table where people are hovering over you, sipping their cocktails and staring at your every bite to see if it will be your last, so they can sit and enjoy the much sought-after meal.

Once we all arrived at babbo we were seated immediately. Our table was directly off the large staircase at the back of the dining room. I didn't even realize babbo had a second floor. The most beautiful element of the dining room, aside from the dishes we were about to inhale, was the enormous centerpiece. Behind our table stood an immense flower pot. I am no florist and had no idea what the plant was, but while serving an aesthetic purpose, it also helped separate you from the rest of the dining parties. It made us feel like we were in our own private section.

As I walked through babbo to our table, I felt like I needed glasses to dim the glow. It wasn't the lighting that was too bright, but everything was shiny and polished, from the glassware to the wood and utensils. The dining room was crisp and clean and even the servers in their crisp white shirts and ties looked pristine. This added a touch of elegance to an otherwise simple setting.

We looked over our menus and were excited to try a little bit of everything. We decided on three appetizers and four pasta dishes.

The prosciutto San Daniele riserva was served with black pepper fett'unta. I didn't know what fett'unta meant until I looked it up and it means bread soaked in olive oil. I wish the dish came with four pieces of toasted bread because cracking the two we had in half -- to split between the four of us -- was a little difficult. I think I had a few crouton-size pieces with the soft, delicious prosciutto.

The highlight of the appetizers was the grilled octopus with borlotti marinati and spicy limoncello vinaigrette. Everyone else was a little frightened at the thought of eating octopus for dinner, but I assured them it would be great. The texture is a cross between lobster and calamari. Even just a tiny fork of this octopus was packed with a mouthful of flavor. It was drenched in a sweet vinaigrette that made for a pleasing blend of salty and sweet. We kept nibbling at it and every bite was better than the previous.

We also tried the three goat cheese truffles with peperonata. The goat cheese balls were rolled in their respective pepper: red, black, and yellow. I took a couple photos of this and AlleyCat kept making me re-do them in order to show off the different colored cheese balls. She was right on the money.

Fashionista tried the black spaghetti with rock shrimp, spicy salami calabrese and green chiles. The black spaghetti was a show stopper. I would definitely go back and order this. As soon as the plate hit the table I got my fork ready to roll up some of the spaghetti and salami. The pasta was fresh and al dente, the shrimp were lightly cooked and the salami added a salty bite to the mix. I think they overdid it on the amount of salami in the dish, however. After Fashionista had eaten all she could, there was still a ton of salami left on the plate. That aside, this is one of the freshest, best pasta dishes I've ever seen or tried in any Italian restaurant.

AlleyCat ordered the linguine with clams, pancetta and hot chiles. AlleyCat had a hard time deciding what to order, and when she asked our waiter, she let him make the decision for her. I think once she saw everyone else's meal she wished she had gone with her instinct. For some reason, linguine with clams never delivers -- it tends to be on the bland side. Disappointingly, babbo's was no different. We all wanted to order something different and unfortunately, AlleyCat went with something other than her first choice. Next time AC, we'll let you pick first.

I ordered the mint love letters with spicy lamb sausage. The name is what really got me. I was intrigued by the thought of eating ravioli in the shape of envelopes. I hate calling them ravioli -- it's such an unglamorous word -- but truthfully that's what they are, with a Batali twist. The pasta had a thick texture, and unlike many restaurant raviolis, was cooked al dente and maintained its firmness. I've never had mint leaves in tomato sauce and they added a distinct sweet bitter flavor to it.

BeanieBaby tried the fettuccine with house-made pancetta, artichokes, lemon and hot chiles. This got the second place ribbon at the table for best dish, after Fashionista's. Just look at those chunks of pancetta. How can I ever going back to eating store-bought bacon? I loved that Batali's pasta dishes are not drowned out by a sauce of any sort. The pasta and the accompanying ingredients -- whether it's salami, rock shrimp or pancetta -- are what should and did stand out at babbo.

I ordered us a side of rapini with roasted garlic just to add one more item to the "tried" list. I was eating the garlic cloves by themselves and the rapini, though well cooked, still had a bit of snap in their stems.

Even with all this food in our tummies -- we all cleaned our plates -- we still had room for the finale. Upon spotting the dessert at the table of businessmen next to us, we copied them and ordered the banana bread with banana gelato. There was a chocolate-y hazelnut flavor to the banana bread and a warm moist bite tasted great with a scoop of the creamy gelato.

Our server was a friendly young man and he took very good care of us. We were treated like royalty at babbo. A different employee came to our table for each individual item that was brought to the table. And though we couldn't afford any of the fancier wines on the wine list, the resident sommelier did stop by our table to take our wine order. The service at babbo is unparalleled in this city. Everyone we dealt with was extremely friendly and there wasn't a pretentious snob among them.

I left babbo extremely pleased. The most shocking part of the night was the bill. I couldn't believe how reasonable it was. I've spent almost twice the amount I paid for a meal half as satisfying. If it wasn't for the planning that goes into making reservations for a dinner a month away, I would be eating at babbo a lot more frequently. I'll just have to swallow my claustrophobic tendencies for a night and perch myself at a table in the front, or sit at the bar and order the black spaghetti and a dirty martini.

I e-mailed Swimster after our feast and asked, "Guess where I finally went to dinner?" I still have yet to hear from him, as he's slaving away in London, and I'm sure missing the New York restaurant scene. Maybe he'll read this with an envious smile.

I'm glad he introduced me to babbo, but I'm even happier I was finally able to experience it with friends.

The next time a friend asks me, "Bah-what?"

I can now say with assertiveness, "Babbo. It's sick Italian."

110 Waverly Place, at the corner of Washington Square Park
212-777-0303