1 Fifth Ave.
A pizza joint that doesn’t deliver is one thing. A pizza joint that won’t evenallow takeout-that’s downright un-American. Until recently, such was the sadfate of Otto Enoteca Pizzeria: No takeout. No delivery. No exceptions. Then,apparently, Mario Batali & Co. had a revelation: If God intended pizza never toleave the pizzeria, why did he create those little plastic thingamajigs thatkeep the cheese from sticking to the top of the pizza box? Now Otto is adelivery juggernaut that makes Domino’s look sluggish by comparison. Which isnot to say that the kitchen has relaxed its standards. Our go-to pizza, theNapoletana, always arrives hot and crisp and comes in a sturdy box tied up withstring and stamped napoletana lest there be any confusion at the delivery depot. Although the order-taker stubbornlyrefuses to send spaghetti alla carbonara out into the night (“Can’t do it; theegg would stick to the pasta like glue”), penne alla Norma is approved forshipping, and arrives miraculously al dente with a little cup of bufala ricottathoughtfully sent in a separate container to swirl in at home. Deliciousantipasti and sprightly salads are equally satisfying-and don’t even get usstarted on the cold, creamy olive-oil gelato, available by the pint. Now, ifonly Batali would do something about Babbo: We’ve got a hunch beef-cheek ravioliwould travel well.