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This venue is closed.

We happily get on line at lunch with the UPS delivery men, the beefy double-beeper-belted garmentos, even strappy-sandaled, Pucci-clad blondes (no doubt Condé Nast-cafeteria fugitives bucking the Si Newhouse-imposed garlic ban) at Veronica Ristorante Italiano. The place mingles a shabby sixties-era garment-district charm -- brown plastic trays; orange Formica tables; pre-poured red or white wine -- with a few unexpected refinements like homemade herb-and-fennel bread and good espresso. Defying the laws of steam-table physics, the pasta, in most cases, is just a bite shy of al dente. Shells in a creamy Bolognese sauce ($8.50) and linguine with two mammoth but surprisingly light turkey meatballs ($6.50) are favorites. "It's better than Le Cirque," we overheard a fashionista crow on a recent visit. "Well, the portions are better," demurred her garmento friend.