Barbuto is not young. But there's something fantastic that comes with age.

JW at the pass at Barbuto (photo by Jeff Prehn)

The first time I ate at Barbuto was in 2004, shortly after Jonathan Waxman opened this rustic Italian bistro in its original space on Washington Street in the Meatpacking District. I was in my 30s and single then and on a blind date. I don't remember many blind dates, but this one made an impression. He was very handsome, in a Tom Brady sort of perfect male way (I prefer the Brett Goldstein type), but rather buttoned up, way too serious, and well, a germaphobe.

I remember we looked through the menu together, and while I saw the meal as a joint dining experience, he did not. He made it clear that his food would not be shared. I thought to myself, if he can’t share food, what else can’t he share? Hmmm…Red Flag.

So we ordered, separately. When his olives arrived, he used his fork to pick one out of its pool of citrusy olive oil. Naturally, the olive slipped around several times before he was able to nail it down to his side plate. Once it was secured, he used a knife and fork to slice it and eat it. A knife and fork for an olive. It was over before it began. 

Interestingly, this was not the only blind date I had at a Jonathan Waxman restaurant. I also had one a few years prior, in 2002, at Washington Park, his Greenmarket concept on lower 5th Avenue. This date also didn’t work out in the romance department, but it was life-changing for my career.