[Fredslist] "Boys' Night Out" at Rao's -- 8/10/10

[David Abeshouse]

Gotham: 

 

I apologize in advance for the length of this posting, but I think relative
comprehensiveness helps to afford this topic the treatment it warrants –
this special evening deserves full description to convey its full flavor.

 

Tomorrow, perhaps we’ll deal with world peace.  But for last night, well, it
was a very, very good night for seven fortunate fellows: Fred (our host),
Odey, Ben, Dave, Peter, Lonny, and me. 

 

How did I come to be involved in this exclusive evening?  I’m not completely
certain, but I do know one thing for sure: It was at least in part because I
never asked. 

 

For the past couple of decades, I’ve wanted to go to Rao’s (pronounced
Ray-O’s).  Not just because of its special brand of exclusivity, not just
for its renowned Neapolitan (Southern) Italian cuisine, and not just for
bragging rights, but rather for the whole experience.  That’s what we got
last night at the corner of 114th Street and Pleasant Ave. in East Harlem,
where Rao’s has ruled the corner and the neighborhood since 1896.  

 

Rao’s is one of the most difficult restaurant reservations to secure in the
country.  There are only ten tables, ranging from 4 to ten seats (although
the ten-top near the front door stretched to accommodate a dozen last
night).  They’re open only weeknights (yes, closed weekends).  They serve
only dinner (apparently some tables turnover once for a second seating, and
some have only one seating).  Loyalists from the previous century have been
given standing reservations, making them akin to owners of their table for a
particular night of the week.  These rights are bequeathed in wills.
They’re fought over by progeny, and doled out to coveting friends (or
temporarily given back to the “house”) sparingly on an occasional basis.
Madonna famously was refused a table when she walked in without a
reservation.  You wanna get in?  Fuggedaboudit.  The stories abound.  If you
need to know more, you can read about Rao’s online (for example, in
Wikipedia, in online reviews, or in a colorful New York magazine story –
findable through Google or Bing -- about the time years ago when Louie “Lump
Lump” Barone shot and killed another patron at Rao’s bar).  

 

I drove three of us into town from Long Island.  One of my passengers, who’d
been to Rao’s with Fred a number of times, regaled us with some of the lore
and legend, food highlights, and other interesting details about this place
to which we’d gain entry, courtesy of our host, Freddy (the “BlackBerry”)
Kleintino. 

 

Arriving a bit early, we walked down four or five steps to the restaurant
level, and gathered at the bar for intros and drinks.  Celebrities (known,
unknown, and imagined) began to appear.  People-watching is part of the
entertainment for the evening.  Captains of industry, a prominent person in
MLB, and, often, just “a guy who knows a guy” who got him in.  One
familiar-looking gentleman walked in, and Fred, always unabashed, asked him
who he was.  He gave his name, thereby identifying himself as a well-known
criminal defense lawyer (I think our failure to place name to face was
because he was considerably shorter than he appears on TV).  He asked Fred
who he was, and Fred replied with a smile, “I’m nobody.”  (I feel strongly
that I should preserve that particular moment for the record, here.) 

 

Our group of seven included four Rao’s newbies (myself included), Fred, and
two experienced guests.  The ages of the participants at our table ranged
from 31 through
ummm
Fred.  Fred had monikers for some at the table: his
best friend, favorite client, greatest constructive critic (yours truly, in
the latter role).  Fred was ubiquitous, adeptly orchestrating (he’s the
Mahler, Mozart, or Mussorgsky of hospitality) to ensure all enjoyed the
varied conversation, the atmosphere, the food and drink, the energy, the
entire experience.  Fred was the consummate host.  

 

Somewhat shockingly, Fred’s constant companion, his BB handheld device,
appeared only a couple of times during the evening.  We checked his vital
signs, however, and they remained good.   

 

Moving from the bar to our table against the back wall of the smallish room,
Fred told some stories (that I imagine he’s probably told many times to many
different assemblages of guests) about the background of his connections to
Rao’s through co-owner Ronnie Straci, involving their respective fathers as
well as an amusing incident in a case early in Fred’s legal career.  I’ll
leave the details for Fred to tell when he wants to and as only he can.  I’d
be remiss if I didn’t mention the framed photos completely covering the
walls of the joint, including at least one prominently featuring our own
Gotham Networking co-founder who is not Nancy.  Although Fred does not “own”
a table, he is able to schedule his reservations for the year all at once.
Rao’s is a tougher ticket than Le Bernardin, Per Se, Masa, or Jean Georges –
much harder to get in.  Fred definitely is “somebody” at Rao’s,
notwithstanding his protest to the contrary to that criminal defense lawyer.


 

OK; I suspect if you’ve read this far, you’ll want to know about the food.
But first, the surroundings.  A few steps down from sidewalk level, as
mentioned.  Old-style appearance, like a movie set for a film depicting such
a NY restaurant in the middle of the last century, or perhaps earlier than
that.  Sorta quirky Christmas décor year-round.  The aforementioned framed
photos.  High spirits, fueled by alcohol, espresso, and camaraderie,
prevail.  The waitstaff is welcoming and well-practiced at kibbitzing and
engaging in mock-arguments with mock-belligerent patrons like Fred.  

 

And now, the food: In a word, peerless.  OK, another word: wow.  Not the
most elegant and refined, but definitely the best in its rustic category.
No fancy sauces (unless you count the superb red sauce as fancy), no
flourishing presentations, just darned great Southern Italian family-style
cooking that’d make your Neapolitan grandma green with envy.  Three types of
bread at the table (each one better than its counterpart anywhere else),
along with garlic-laced olive oil for dipping, and parmesan cheese and dried
red peppers for sprinkling.  They neither need nor use any menus; rather,
our order-taking waiter, Joey, pulls up a chair, places it backwards, and
sits at your table while he recites a litany of deliciousness that utterly
melted any resolve to refrain from sheer gluttony.  Please don’t tell my
doctor.  We collectively selected the various appetizers and main courses to
share, family style.  

 

As best I can recall, we had: elemental seafood salad in a light
vinaigrette, beautifully spiced penne arrabiata, perfect baked clams,
super-fresh mozzarella and tomato, ethereal meatballs, salty and garlicky
orchiette with broccoli rabe and olive oil, flavored roasted potatoes (this
for me was the only dish I’d preferred elsewhere), exquisite shrimp
parmagiana, celestial veal chop sliced off the bone with hot cherry peppers
(my law school chum Jay will be happy to learn that I agree with his
recommendation), and flavorful chicken scarpariello with sausage and
peppers.  One bottle of Chianti Classico replaced another repeatedly
throughout the evening, which was not a bad thing.  If I’ve omitted
anything, I apologize, but my brain still is besotted with the excess.   

 

And then came time for dessert.  The waiter apologized for the temporary
dearth of ice cream flavor selections, but the black cherry ice cream was so
good that we didn’t miss the lack of variety.  Tartufo and cheesecake
rounded out the sweet selections, accompanied by espresso, both decaf and
regular.  Then Jessica, our waitress, came by to offer Frangelica, port,
limoncello, or other after-dinner drinks.   

 

The finale, the “cherry on top” for the evening, was that when we walked
outside and up the few steps, there was an impromptu doo-wop quintet of a
capella singers, including co-owner Frank “Frankie No” Pellegrino, right
outside the front door, singing their hearts out, just like on similar NY
street corners back in the ‘50s and ‘60s – a real slice of old-time New
York.  And inevitably, Fred jumped in to participate in a rendition of
“Sunday Kind of Love” – Frankie, who also is a professional actor, singer,
and entertainer, actually smiled at Fred in approval of Fred’s bass lines.
I couldn’t really hear them from where I stood, so I’m absolved from
fulfilling my apparent role as constructive critic, in this connection.
Maybe that’s my critique – Fred should project more.  Who’d ever think
anyone would say that?  Anyway, I’m happy that he got to have the “Dion and
the Belmonts” moment of his life, and that I was there to witness it.      

 

I now have had the rare opportunity to enjoy the experience of Rao’s.  It
really is indeed all it’s cracked up to be.  How often does something live
up to the hype this well?  I’m obviously honored to have been there last
evening.  And courtesy of Fred’s “favorite client,” I now have the T-shirt
to prove it.  

 

David 

 

 

(Please note my new mailing address.  All other contact info remains the
same.) 

 

David J. Abeshouse  

Law Office of David Abeshouse  

626 RXR Plaza  

Uniondale, New York  11556  

Ph: 516-229-2360   Fax: 516-229-2361 

Business Litigation and Alternative Dispute Resolution  

Arbitrator/Mediator  

David at BizLawNY.com  

http://www.BizLawNY.com  

 

See my LinkedIn profile:   

 <http://tinyurl.com/455eqj> http://tinyurl.com/455eqj  

See my Avvo profile:  

 <http://tinyurl.com/4u34gg> http://tinyurl.com/4u34gg  

See my mediate.com profile: 

 <http://tinyurl.com/ya554za> http://tinyurl.com/ya554za   

See my Google profile: 

 <http://www.google.com/profiles/abeshouse>
http://www.google.com/profiles/abeshouse 

 

 

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://www.gothamnetworking.com/pipermail/fredslist/attachments/20100811/3de4fba1/attachment-0001.html