We showed up at Babbo early Friday evening with hopes of squeezing into the bar. Surprisingly, we were offered a table in the front room almost immediately. And then, seven courses into our eight-course pasta tasting, the manager appeared and asked if we would move inside the dining room to complete our meal. Were we eating too slow? Why would they make us get up when we were nearly done? Whatever the case, we were blunted by carbs, and obliged. One comped dessert later, we were on our way out, and discovered just what had precipitated the move: Mario Batali himself was sitting in our seat. Luckily, we weren’t under him when he took it. — Jennifer Cacicio
