NYCReview
photo credit: Noah Devereaux
Bamonte's
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Bamonte’s is a New York institution, and if you haven't heard of it before, your life must be boring. That's a joke (mostly), but also everybody should know about this Williamsburg Italian restaurant, which has hosted group dinners averaging one wine bottle per person since it opened in 1900.
The food at Bamonte’s is not spectacular. People who've been coming for decades will say things like, “the food here used to be a lot better.” Maybe it was. But what you eat never really matters. Because by the time a platter of totally okay penne alla vodka lands on your table, Bamonte’s will have already won you over. No New York City restaurant entertains with bow ties and bottles of red quite like this one.
photo credit: Noah Devereaux
photo credit: Noah Devereaux
photo credit: Willa Moore
Bamonte’s might be the only restaurant with a parking lot in Williamsburg, and every night that parking lot is full of Escalades with Jersey plates. People descend from their SUVs wearing fur coats and high heels, mingling seamlessly at the bar with folks who moved to Williamsburg in 2013, after finding success in the tech startup world. A tattooed bartender mixes stiff, rubbing alcohol-adjacent martinis, while parties of six and eight wait for their tables.
Beyond the bar is a cavernous dining room with chandeliers dangling from high ceilings, and thick red curtains covering the windows. The fluorescent kitchen lights shine out onto tuxedoed servers as they pick up orders of pork chop parmesan from an army of cooks. Service is gruff, but humorous—on a recent visit, a server brought one too many wine glasses and exclaimed, “Mamma Mia! One for me!”
photo credit: Noah Devereaux
Birthdays are celebrated, forks clink before speeches, and napkins are tucked into collars in preparation for red sauce slurping. Ten childhood friends from Windsor Terrace pass around six bottles of wine, and platters of baked clams. One of them takes flash videos of his plate, to share with his large Facebook following.
Those baked clams are good, because everything tastes good when you submerge it in butter and breadcrumbs. But by the time the food starts arriving, your wine has been filled to the brim for the third time, you’re full of free bread, and the little imperfections of some of the dishes—a slightly watery tomato sauce, or a plate of calamari that would have benefitted from a bit more time in the fryer—are easily ignored. Call for a table, and don’t be surprised if a last-minute reservation request isn’t possible. This place is quietly one of the busiest spots in town.