Villa Mosconi Restaurant

"Villa Mosconi opened in 1976, the year Jimmy Carter was elected, Taxi Driver was released, and the New York Times included “zeppole vans” on their list of 101 things to love about New York City. The zeppole vans are gone (alas), but this lively Greenwich restaurant remains. There’s a narrow bar room in front, an enclosed garden room in back, and a big dining room that would look like a hospital lobby if it weren’t for the white tablecloths and ornately framed oil paintings. The best thing about this place is the way the long-time waiters hug and cheek-kiss the regulars good night, but the hearty, unpretentious northern Italian dishes, carafes of wine, and fresh, housemade pastas will serve you well for a throwback group dinner." - willa moore, will hartman, sonal shah, neha talreja

"At the mouth of MacDougal Street, Villa Mosconi dances to its own tune, several steps out of time with the rest of the neighborhood. This old-school Italian restaurant opened in 1976, and it still gets pretty lively (Monte’s, down the street is older, and owned by the same family). There’s a narrow bar room in front, an enclosed garden room in back, and a big dining room that would look like a hospital lobby if it weren’t for the white tablecloths and ornately framed paintings. The best thing about this place is the way the long-time waiters hug and cheek-kiss the regulars good night, but the hearty, unpretentious northern Italian dishes, carafes of wine, and fresh, housemade pastas will serve you well for a throwback group dinner." - willa moore, will hartman, sonal shah, neha talreja, arden shore

"Behind Villa Mosconi's red awning and dated cursive sign, men who are likely lifetime members of the Italian heritage club next door slouch over veal marsala. Women wear floral dresses that recall couch upholstery from 1976, the year this Greenwich Village restaurant opened. A Carol Kane sound-alike does a very good impression of her impatient cat, waiting for her at home while she waits an hour for her check. Across the room, servers send regulars off with a hug, a doggy bag, and two cheek kisses. At the mouth of MacDougal Street, Villa Mosconi dances to its own tune, several steps out of time with the Negroni drinkers walking by on their way to . The reservation stalkers a block away at seem unaware of its existence, and the celeb chasers around the corner at will probably never hear of Villa Mosconi either, unless they get tired of waiting in line and search for “Italian near me.”  From the wooden bar area up front to a dining room that feels welcoming despite its hospital-like drop ceiling and white floor tiles, Villa Mosconi is a party in its own pocket universe. The Northern Italian cooking is as charmingly uneven as the service, ranging from “it exists” to “pretty good.” Waiters pop up to spout the day’s specials, then disappear, forgetting to bring the wine until you’ve finished studying all of the oil paintings ringing the room. It's a little chaotic, and, once that wine appears, a lot of fun. The menu is short and to the point—some dishes are labeled simply “Bolognese,” “Tomato Sauce,” “Marinara Sauce”—but ask about specials and homemade pasta, and you’ll discover plenty of variety. Nothing on the table makes an urgent argument to return, yet a plate of pillowy gnocchi with pesto is intensely comforting. And if you order the tender osso bucco in a lumpy, saffron-scented mattress of risotto, a server will carry it hoisted above his shoulder, so everyone in the room can see. This isn’t exactly high-finesse dining, but it is endearing, right down to the all-season garden room out back. Come with friends who have a soft spot for obsolescence and don’t expect to be entertained by a self-referential schtick. Villa Mosconi is really just a second home for gently eccentric neighborhood regulars, disguised as an old-school Italian restaurant. ( , down the street and owned by the same family, is a bit more touristy.) Share some wine poured out of painted ceramic carafes. And if your white tablecloth gets splattered with drops of Chianti by the time a plate of big, gooey tiramisu arrives, that’s just the mark of the good time you've had here. " - Sonal Shah