They say never judge a book by its cover.
They also used to say you could cure diseases with leeches and that the world was flat.
Point is, they say stuff.
Shouldn’t stop you from enjoying something beautiful.
Like Pagani, a West Village Italian spot you should use for…
The tragically underutilized off-bar meal.
Below the drop-beam ceilings and just south of the ludicrously sexy streaked marble bar are two instances of a dying breed in the city—the freestanding bar table. The ones with the tall stools. Lean on them. Eat pappardelle Bolognese from a former Babbo chef. Drink cocktails named for the RCA dog.
The charm offensive.
Beyond the bar is a wooded corridor of candlelight duck confit and bottles of Montalcino. You want to secure the well-cushioned fireplace-cum-dining-nook near the back for any and all dates that should take place for the foreseeable future.
The back, sometimes private, room.
Oxidized-mirror walls. A handful of two-tops and a general early-20th-century-Italian-meal-in-New-York vibe. It’s a curtained-off place to throw small shindigs with anyone who enjoys eating food.
Experience shows most people do.
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