What a peculiar weekend.
A Met threw a no-hitter.
It rained from the sun.
And yet your mind never wavered from pasta...
Welcome to Rosemary’s Enoteca & Trattoria, a charming farmhouse of wine and hearty Italian-ness from the folks behind Bobo (and a chef from Eataly), open for dinner Friday in the Village (that great farmhouse mecca).
You’ve explored Bobo. Three floors of eccentric Francophilia and liquor nooks. Well, this is... not really at all like that, actually. It’s a wide-open, rustic ode to pappardelle with lamb ragù, unnecessarily fresh vegetables and the potable yields of the grapevine. Also, an ode to the owner’s mother (if you guessed “Rosemary,” gold star) and her Tuscan home.
Bring two things here—a date and an umbrella. Regarding the latter: you may notice a strange, hyper-localized rain shower right as you walk in. That’s just the sprinkler coming down on you from the rooftop farm. Which reminds us, there’s a rooftop farm. The fresh basil on your spaghetti pomodoro—it comes from the fertile lands of right upstairs.
Now grab a table. If you’re looking for one that’s not extremely wooden, sorry. Check out the wall of bread (you love those). Notice the gray marble bar next to it (you love those). That’s it. No tricks (unless you count the private-party-friendly wine cellar). Just you two, some pork loin and a perfectly dry aglianico.
Which sadly did not come from the roof.
A Met threw a no-hitter.
It rained from the sun.
And yet your mind never wavered from pasta...
Welcome to Rosemary’s Enoteca & Trattoria, a charming farmhouse of wine and hearty Italian-ness from the folks behind Bobo (and a chef from Eataly), open for dinner Friday in the Village (that great farmhouse mecca).
You’ve explored Bobo. Three floors of eccentric Francophilia and liquor nooks. Well, this is... not really at all like that, actually. It’s a wide-open, rustic ode to pappardelle with lamb ragù, unnecessarily fresh vegetables and the potable yields of the grapevine. Also, an ode to the owner’s mother (if you guessed “Rosemary,” gold star) and her Tuscan home.
Bring two things here—a date and an umbrella. Regarding the latter: you may notice a strange, hyper-localized rain shower right as you walk in. That’s just the sprinkler coming down on you from the rooftop farm. Which reminds us, there’s a rooftop farm. The fresh basil on your spaghetti pomodoro—it comes from the fertile lands of right upstairs.
Now grab a table. If you’re looking for one that’s not extremely wooden, sorry. Check out the wall of bread (you love those). Notice the gray marble bar next to it (you love those). That’s it. No tricks (unless you count the private-party-friendly wine cellar). Just you two, some pork loin and a perfectly dry aglianico.
Which sadly did not come from the roof.
