Let’s talk about the state of the market.
No, the other market—the one that’s two stories high and stocked with fresh pappardelle, buffalo mozzarella and merlot.
Behold Mercato di Vetro, an airy two-level mecca of fresh Italian-ness from SBE (Katsuya, Cleo), taking reservations now and opening Monday for all future dates and power dinners.
There’s a lot going on here—there are like four kitchens—so you’ll want to absorb this in stages. Start with a glass of sangiovese front and center, leaning on a tall marble table under the towering shrine to wine bottles. (It rivals the one in your basement.)
Then you’ve got some options. If you’re just here with a friend for a casual pile of salumi, chicken liver crostini and pork osso buco, stay downstairs at a little table against the wall. That’s where the view’s best of all comings, goings and chefs shoving kale pizzas into a wood-burning oven.
But if you’re here with a cadre of Italian shoe models and at least one Batali, take them upstairs to the big round oak table where there’s room for everybody.
Wherever you end up, ask your waitress to hand over her iPad—if you need some olive oil or polenta from the retail area (or you really liked that pasta you just had), use the iPad to order some stuff to take home.
No, you don’t get to keep the iPad.
No, the other market—the one that’s two stories high and stocked with fresh pappardelle, buffalo mozzarella and merlot.
Behold Mercato di Vetro, an airy two-level mecca of fresh Italian-ness from SBE (Katsuya, Cleo), taking reservations now and opening Monday for all future dates and power dinners.
There’s a lot going on here—there are like four kitchens—so you’ll want to absorb this in stages. Start with a glass of sangiovese front and center, leaning on a tall marble table under the towering shrine to wine bottles. (It rivals the one in your basement.)
Then you’ve got some options. If you’re just here with a friend for a casual pile of salumi, chicken liver crostini and pork osso buco, stay downstairs at a little table against the wall. That’s where the view’s best of all comings, goings and chefs shoving kale pizzas into a wood-burning oven.
But if you’re here with a cadre of Italian shoe models and at least one Batali, take them upstairs to the big round oak table where there’s room for everybody.
Wherever you end up, ask your waitress to hand over her iPad—if you need some olive oil or polenta from the retail area (or you really liked that pasta you just had), use the iPad to order some stuff to take home.
No, you don’t get to keep the iPad.
