Indecision is a terrible thing. On a freezing day this week when coffee and hot chocolate were alluring alternatives around the hot spots of the Flatiron, the best decision finally came spontaneously. Pasta! Sean and I were only slightly peckish when we crossed Eataly‘s hearth of hospitality, but by the time we wandered through all the color and collective deliciousness of their maze di mangiare, we were starving. Maybe that’s why there is a little trattoria at the back, tucked in behind the fresh bread and homemade pasta. The designers knew that by the time you found that, the smell would be the last straw.

Ragout always speaks to me. Calls out actually, no competition, no need for an actual menu. But our waiter was full of suggestions regardless. Despite looking Italian, he said, he was actually Puerto Rican, and so believed in free shots. Wine glasses quickly ensued with generous tastings of possible pairings. His spiel may have been said repeatedly to every guest every day, but it didn’t matter, it was entertainment and fun. And that was before the giant cheese grater even arrived. Pizza and pasta were offered side by side from separate kitchens which means they may arrive unsynchronized. But hey, it was a pasta day and it was delicious.

Desert was not on the menu. That is, the movable feast that is Eataly demands you walk between courses and find a new venue for afters. This was not difficult, and the gentle exercise found reward in a hazelnut mousse with whole nuts and a thin crunch of chocolate – with a wafer-small expresso of course…