On an unusually blustery early Sunday morning, social media influencers, chefs, and a handful of food editors and reporters descended upon King in Lower Manhattan. The chairs had been pushed aside. Branches laden with cherry blossoms competed with bursts of tulip bouquets for our attention—to feast our eyes upon.
A singer, accompanied by a pianist and clarinet player, belted out throwback jazz hits as bartenders flung Negronis and spritzes onto the diminutive bar as quickly as the cocktails could be shaken. Appetizers snaked out from the kitchen: bruschetta decorated with slivers of salty anchovies and Italian chilis; tortellini stuffed with fresh ricotta and dotted with English peas, mint leaves, and lemon zest; an enormous spring pea and ricotta frittata that, for a few moments, stopped all conversation as it was presented; and pinches of baccalà carefully pressed onto squares of seared polenta.
The latter—the baccalà polenta—was made in honor of one special guest: Stanley Tucci, host of Tucci in Italy, the star of too many of my favorite movies (have you seen Conclave? If not, you should), and the author of the memoirs tucked into our painfully stylish navy knit Clare V. totes, embroidered with the word “Ciao” and echoing S.Pellegrino’s most recently released sparkling beverage. Baccalà was his favorite, the kitchen had discerned. “I’ve only made it once,” he confessed. “Yours is probably better than mine.”
