Word: batali
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Their six other restaurants are flourishing; Bastianich estimates that they collectively serve 2,000 people a night. Last year the James Beard Foundation named Batali its Outstanding Chef--the top award a U.S. cook can win. This year the foundation has nominated Molto Italiano, Batali's 2005 book, as best international cookbook and Del Posto as best new restaurant. The winners will be announced at a Manhattan gala on May 8, a few days after Batali returns from cooking chicken thighs and tortilla casserole for scores of NASCAR drivers, crewmen, and their families at Talladega Superspeedway in Talladega...
...When Batali delivered the commencement address last year at Rutgers, he urged the graduates to "get a brand," which he defined as "your own truth, expressed consistently." "For better or worse, I've got a brand," he said in the speech. "The orange clogs, the ponytail, the attitude, my seeming fluency in Italian--it's instantly recognizable. But what matters to me is, it's not fake." O.K., but the challenge he now faces is not to misjudge how far you can stretch your brand without cheapening it. In the '90s, because of his Manhattan restaurants, Batali vaulted into...
Food is fad--it's gone the second we swallow it--and one day Batali's restaurants will seem musty and trite. But at least for now, Batali--partly because he is a man of catholic, unquenchable appetites--seems to know exactly what our overfed country is hungry for. (It's also not terribly surprising that a country where nearly two-thirds of adults are overweight venerates a large guy as a cooking icon.) Buford notes that Batali once flirted with an apposite motto: "Wretched excess is just barely enough...
Since he moved to New York City in 1992, Batali has become an ur-Manhattanite--a Bush-hating liberal, a partier, a good friend of R.E.M.'s Michael Stipe. When I asked how he persuaded a middle-American institution like NASCAR to work with him, Batali answered, "I present a compelling case because"--self-conscious pause--"I'm fun." A year ago, a Rutgers classmate who is a well-connected NASCAR aficionado brought him to his first big race. On a lark, Batali and his friend had decided to throw a dinner for the drivers. "We handed out little cards...
...Batali and I were talking at a bar in Chicago. He was in town for the housewares show, where his display featured a garish, full-scale plastic replica of an Italian farmhouse. As we spoke, a hefty guy, beer in hand, walked over to our table. He introduced himself as a "firefighter here in Chicago" and said he wanted to shake Batali's hand. The firefighter's wife then came over--the first of an endless stream of fans who would approach Batali over the weekend. Cards were pressed into his hand; pictures were taken; autographs were requested on books...