Trattoria Dell'Arte

I went to this restaurant last year after the US Open Men's Final. The intern/Photo editor at the magazine I used to work for lost some tickets that the mag. got us for Urinetown so he asked me if I'd want to go to the Open with him and his parents. I have never seen live competitive tennis. This was apparently a big game that was impossible to get tickets for, so I accepted his offer. For lunch we went to a lovely restaurant inside the stadium and for diner we went to Trattoria'del'Arte.

Apparently his parents (from California) were regulars there or had some sort of recognizable importance because our waiter brought us a bottle of champagne on the house. The food was amazing, a little expensive for a college girl, but I wasn't paying. I ordered a pizza, which I wasn't too fond of, but that’s what you get for ordering pizza at a place this exquisite. As we were leaving, I filled out a when's your birthday card with my name and other info. and almost a year later I receive a card good for a $35 entree.

Friday night, two days before the card expired, I dolled myself up and met a friend for diner. We were sat right a way at a small table that was lined up with ten or so other tables with little room to get in or out. Our waiter actually pulled the table out to let me in. I ordered a half a bottle of Pinot Noir, an excellent choice because its not to heavy or sweet, and the Antipasto bar as an appetizer. As my friend and I were waiting for the main course to arrive, I table for six climbed into the table next to us. A cold, wet jolt of water permeated my butt and torso. I stood up, with little room, from the puddle of water that had just been poured over me. When the new guests knocked my ice cold water on to my already cold air conditioned body, my waiter ran over to help me clean myself off. It was really livid about being Shamoo splashed in my new dry clean only dress. But, I did have to sit next to the culprit for the remainder of my meal, so I accepted the waiters advise that it is good luck in Europe to have such a thing happen. I smiled at the table and continued my meal as if nothing had happened, which under the circumstance was the best way to handle the situation.

I ordered the Filetto di Manzo (Filet Mignion with portabella, chalets, and potatoes in a Brunello sauce). The steak was so tender that my fork glided through it as I cut with out my knife. The dark heavy sauce that soaked into to the steak was sweat and rich, but not overwhelmingly so. I savored each bit and ignored being wet. I think that this steak is on my top five list of best meals in my life.

The table for two, a middle age woman and her daughter who were off to a show, left and the waiter cautiously greeted a new couple and sat them at the table adjacent to mine. Whom, as it turns out, was from the same small town in PA as the six top on my other side. The gentleman at the new table said to my date, "I think it's even more extraordinary to bump into people from your own town than it is Rosie O'Donnell". My date agreed and found the comments rather cryptic, that is, until we realized that Rosie O'Donnell was sitting two tables to our left.

For my birthday, and the water spill, they brought me chocolate cheese cake with fresh cream and strawberries on top with a sparkler. What appeared to be the entire staff of the restaurant came to sing to me. As always, my face turned an obvious shade of crimson and my eyes welled-up with tears. I was so embarrassed that I was laughing away my air supply.

The table of six took pictures for me and said they would send them to my e-mail. By the conclusion of the diner, I was friendly with both the tables next to me, falling in and out of conversation with them between my dessert and coffee. Overall, I had an amazing evening. My only wish is that I could afford to go there more often.