323 West Broadway (between Grand and Canal Sts.) 646-964-4641 www.mamonyc.com
Italian. They had me at breadsticks. And if they’re willing to put such time and care into that, you have surely come to the right place.
Mamo did not begin in New York. The original has been on the French Riviera for over 20 years. Based on everything about our version, you would swear it existed for a couple decades rather than a few mere years.
The artichoke salad with greens, tomatoes, olives and parmesan is the ultimate union of freshness and flavor. Their margherita pizza made with tomatoes, basil and cantal cheese (of which I had never heard, but am now the world’s greatest fan due to the magic it produced).
The rigatoni with meatballs and sausage is yet another treat. And the orata, seared and filleted tableside, is accompanied by a shiny copper pot filled with an array of very inviting vegetables. It’s all more than generous, but you should not depart without having dessert.
Their affogato sports three scoops of incomparable vanilla ice cream, bathed not in espresso but steaming hot strawberries. One taste and it’s impossible to imagine adding anything else. The meal is a dream awash in white — walls, wood beams and some of the most comfortable, cushiony chairs I have ever felt.
All the more reason to linger, although the sweet range of music, soft lighting and wonderful service have pretty much taken care of that. It’s a good thing we don’t have to go to Antibes to experience this. But, trust me, it would be worth it.
Mamo did not begin in New York. The original has been on the French Riviera for over 20 years. Based on everything about our version, you would swear it existed for two decades rather than two months. The artichoke salad with greens, tomatoes, olives and parmesan is the ultimate union of freshness and flavor. Their margherita pizza is made with tomatoes, basil and cantal cheese (of which I had never heard, but am now the world’s greatest fan due to the magic it produced). The rigatoni with meatballs and sausage is yet another treat. And the orata, seared and filleted tableside, is accompanied by a shiny copper pot filled with an array of very inviting vegetables. It’s all more than generous, but you should not depart without having dessert. Their affogato sports three scoops of incomparable vanilla ice cream, bathed not in espresso but steaming hot strawberries. Taste it and you cannot even imagine adding anything else. The meal is a dream awash in white — walls, wood beams and some of the most comfortable, cushiony chairs I have ever felt. All the more reason to linger, although the sweet range of music, soft lighting and wonderful service have pretty much taken care of that. It’s a good thing we don’t have to go to Antibes to experience this. But, trust me, it would be worth it.