The problem with writing reviews on this site is that I often attend meals and whatnot with friends and loved ones. More times than not I end up at these places at the behest of them. It’s odd then when I have to be all honest and stuff and admit that I didn’t love the joint that they suggested. Such is the case with Bellavitae. It was one that Ms. Hipster brought me to, and I just couldn’t bring myself to love it the way that she ended up loving it. First, I’m not a huge fan of small dishes. I like to scarf giant plates of fancy-shaped pasta and chicken parm and chunks of lasagna the size of an H3. Sharing is for people with clubfoot and psychological problems. And seeing as Dudley Moore wasn’t available that night to share fried meatballs, fried risotto balls, fried cheese and some sort of rare, wild Italian boar fried in its own innards with the Mrs., it became my chore to pretend I liked doing the “one for you, one for me” thing. By the time I got through these few things (minus the boar, which I just made up because I didn’t want to completely bore the pants off you), I was so thirsty from the overly-salty coatings that I was about to sprint into the kitchen and go dunk my head in the dirty plate sink. The space itself is long and skinny, and oddly crowded and loud. That said, I’m actually a fan of volume at my eating establishments, and the jam-packed feeling gave that nice sense of communal New York chowing. The service was attentive and knowledgeable, but I just wish that I had chosen my meal better and avoided at least a fat bomb or two. [MF]

24 Minetta Ln.