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“Morandi”


  Occasion: Cuisine: Area: Cost: Rating:
  Night Out Italian West Village Moderate Great

gs have changed.

But then again, not so much. For all the celebrity status that he holds, he’s really sort of the anti-celebrity restaurateur in many ways. He’s very behind the scenes, spending most of his time with his chefs and staff, and not out shaking hands with guests. He’s not widely recognizable and doesn’t court the press or do many interviews. The man doesn’t even have a PR person. He still uses an AOL email address. Despite the fever around his restaurants and the madness with which people react to a new opening, McNally remains someone who is most concerned about what’s going on inside his restaurants—the food, the service, the atmosphere, and that thing called hospitality.

I’ll be honest. I’ve always been in awe of him and what he’s created. I’m impressed with the shelf life of his operations, with how he manages to create environments that people yearn to be a part of. I’ve said this before about him. He sets a great scene, but he always makes sure there’s substance to back it up. There’s friendly, knowledgeable service. There’s good (and sometimes very good) food. There’s consistency of product. There’s the vibe, the design, the perfectly distressed otherworldly décor. And there’s the sense when eating at one of his restaurants that you are in the right place at the right time. Put it all together, and that, friends, is McNally’s magic.

Unnoticed by anyone in the dining room, McNally walks up to the front of the restaurant just as a runner drops off the first of our many courses to come. We start with a plate of proscuitto de parma with gnoccho frito ($16), served on a wooden platter that resembles a trivet. Craig pulls a wide sheet of glossy proscuitto off the plate and piles it on top of a gnoccho—a diamond shaped puff of fried buttery dough. The heat of the gnoccho slightly melts the proscuitto, making it almost creamy. We each take a bite. We each start to smile. “Our rule about not finishing everything on our plate doesn’t apply to proscuitto right?” he says. “No, of course not. Proscuitto is the obvious exception,” I agree.

As we devour our pork and fried dough, the runner comes over with a bowl of fried stuffed olives ($8), which arrive looking like a cross between a hush puppy and a falafel ball. They’re huge and really are more ... [more, click below]

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