I'm very biased. All the Italian waitstaff kiss me on both cheeks when I walk in the door. I take everyone I like there. I even get free glasses of Prosecco. When you walk into the entrance, you're greeted by a bunch of greasy guys twirling dough. Oops, I thought this was supposed to be an Italian restaurant. But if you go to the back and make a quick left, you find a surprisingly large space for the East Village, and there's even an outdoor patio that's heated in the wintertime (as in you could wear a t-shirt). Even to sit at the bar with a glass of wine, the place is damn romantic. I always order the same things: appetizer- the burrata with olive oil and tomatoes, the cortadina salad (arugula with flaked parmesan cheese), and then the real reason I'm obsessed: the brick oven pizzas. A creature of habit, I stick to my margarita (the sublime marriage of cheese, tomato sauce and olive oil over thin crust orgasms in your mouth), but some of my other favorites are the Tartufate (mozzarella, truffle sauce, mushrooms, and spec), and the Parmigiana (mozzarella, tomato sauce, eggplant, shaved parmesan cheese and basil).
I may turn into one of those crazies who never leave the E Village because of this place.
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