Photo by Ann Shaffer Glatz.
Peter Glatz eats a sheep’s eyeball at Enoteca Maria in Staten Island, New York.
If I had to pick my most memorable dining experiences, three would stand out. My dinner at the chef’s table at Charlie Trotter’s in Chicago immediately springs to mind. Nestled within the bustling kitchen, the chef’s table offered a front-row seat to the controlled chaos and focused energy of the legendary, Michelin-starred restaurant. The tension was palpable, but what truly left an impression was witnessing Trotter’s legendary temper. It was an intense moment, undeniably, but it also revealed his seriousness about everything being perfect – just like his cameo appearance in the movie My Best Friend’s Wedding: “I’ll kill your whole family if you don’t get this right!”
Then there was my dinner at Chicago’s Alinea, Grant Achatz’s Michelin three-star restaurant. It was completely different, more akin to performance art than conventional dining. Every bite was creative and surprising, though not particularly satiating. It was more like a Cirque du Soleil performance using food. The dessert course was an edible helium-filled balloon that tasted like banana Laffy Taffy. The server instructed me to bring it to my lips and kiss it. The warmth of my lips popped the balloon and filled my mouth with helium, making me laugh like a munchkin.
Both places were amazing in totally different ways and remain etched in my mind as exceptional and significant moments in my personal dining history. However, neither of these two restaurants (which incidentally were the two most expensive dinners of my life) is my No. 1 restaurant experience. That honor goes to a late lunch at Enoteca Maria, a tiny storefront restaurant that isn’t even staffed by professional chefs. All the food is prepared by nonnas – immigrant grandmothers from around the world.
The story of my most memorable restaurant meal begins with a free 25-minute ferry trip from Manhattan to Staten Island. Passing close to the Statue of Liberty, the inscription on her pedestal – “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” – seemed a particularly fitting prelude to a meal cooked by immigrants.
You may have heard of Enoteca Maria. It’s the restaurant that inspired the recent hit Netflix movie Nonnas, starring Vince Vaughn, which was released this past Mother’s Day weekend and reached the top spot on Netflix’s Top 10 list. I wasn’t even aware of the movie’s upcoming release, but I could tell something was about to drop when the old Instagram post from my 2018 visit exploded with likes and comments.
This unassuming restaurant in Staten Island, just a short walk from the St. George Ferry Terminal, is a cozy, brick-walled space with only 35 seats. It is decidedly old-school and low-tech. It’s only open on Fridays and Saturdays, reservations must be made by phone and they don’t accept credit cards.
Upon entering Enoteca Maria, we were greeted by the owner, Jody “Joe” Scaravella. His acknowledgment wasn’t verbal; occupied with a phone reservation and a pencil, he simply held up a finger, signaling he would attend to us shortly. The persistent ringing of the phone suggested a steady stream of incoming bookings. Eventually, Joe motioned to a server, instructing, “Take care of these people!”
We were led to our table by our friendly server, a short, muscular young man with an accent straight out of Goodfellas. He handed us menus and explained: “Half our menu is from Maria, our Italian nonna. The other half changes daily. We have a rotating cast of nonnas from around the world with their own dishes. Today’s international nonna is Nonna Dolly from Sri Lanka.”
I perused the wine list. All week, we’d been recoiling with sticker shock over the prices of wine in New York restaurants. Enoteca Maria’s menu of predominantly Italian wines featured many options under $40, a rarity in a New York restaurant. I selected a $35 rosato and began to study the food menu.
Our server brought over our wine and set down a complimentary sampler of warm focaccia accompanied by three antipasti. The menu was astonishing, featuring many dishes not commonly encountered, such as cannolicchi di mare – razor clams simmered in white wine with garlic and parsley, palle di Joe (a playful title translating to “Joe’s balls”) – sliced lamb testicles baked in oil and vinegar served over a bed of greens, and zampe di gallina – chicken feet, potatoes and onions cooked in white wine and rosemary sauce. I decided to take a walk on the wild side and ordered the capuzzelle di agnello, a whole roasted lamb’s head, unquestionably one of the most unusual and adventurous dishes I’ve ever experienced.
Our server checked back and told us that Nonna Maria was so pleased that someone had ordered the capuzzelle that she wanted to serve it herself. Soon after, he returned and set down before me a platter bearing a whole lamb’s head, which had been sawed in half down the middle, packed with fresh herbs, garlic and breadcrumbs, tied back together with kitchen twine and roasted. Studying the eyeball that seemed to be looking up at me, I was reminded of my gross anatomy lab in dental school, where I had to dissect a cadaver head.
The diners at the adjacent table were savoring their lasagna bianca, pillowy layers of pasta sheets, Parmesan, mozzarella, artichokes, mushrooms and butternut squash, all enveloped in a rich béchamel sauce. Its appealing presentation made me wish I had chosen that dish, instead of the “road less traveled.”
Moments later, a beaming Nonna Maria emerged from the kitchen, large scissors in hand. She snipped the strings and separated the halves, revealing the easily identifiable brain within the stuffed head. Nonna Maria explained that her mother, raised in a poor Italian village, firmly believed in utilizing the entire animal, wasting nothing. This dish typifies cucina povera, or “poor kitchen,” a long-standing Italian tradition of resourceful cooking.
She studied me closely as I picked at the cheeks (very tender and sweet) and the brain (soft, spongy and jelly-like). I was going to pass on trying the eyeballs, but Nonna Maria insisted. “The head of the household gets the eyeballs!” I could imagine my grandmother telling me, “You have to try at least one bite!” She watched me closely as I gingerly scooped out the eyeballs with my spoon, and, trying not to retch, ate both eyeballs, unconvincingly nodding my approval.
Enoteca Maria offers more than just the warmth and comfort typically associated with grandmothers. It empowers senior women by valuing their often-unrecognized talents.
Additionally, it fosters cultural understanding of diverse culinary ethnicities and helps preserve a rapidly disappearing history.
Peter Glatz is a 72-year-old retired dentist and aspiring chef who traded his drill for a chef’s knife (but kept his tweezers) and now fills bellies instead of cavities.