MAMO

Italian.  They had me at breadsticks.  And if they’re willing to put such time and care into that, you’ve surely come to the right place.

Mamo was not born in NYC.  The original has been on the French Riviera for more than two decades.  And based on everything about ours, you’d swear it existed for over 20 years rather than just a few.

For the ultimate union of freshness and flavor, look no further than the artichoke salad (greens, tomatoes, olives, plus parmesan).   If you’re feeling like pizza, their margherita is graced with tomatoes, basil and cantal cheese (of which I had never heard, but am now the world’s greatest fan due to its undeniable magic).

Rigatoni with meatballs and sausage is just another treat.  And the orata, seared then filleted tableside, arrives with a shiny copper pot filled with vegetables.  It’s all more than generous, but you shouldn’t 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 it with anything else.

The night is a dream awash in white — walls, wood beams and some of the most comfortable, cushiony chairs I’ve ever felt.

All the more reason to linger, although the sweet range of music, soft lighting and highly attentive 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.