Penne From Heaven

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He does this for three reasons. One, most Babbo customers are rich Manhattanites spoiled by big hunks of filet mignon and Alaskan halibut. "Testa brings a depth you don't get by using the biggest, best cut of meat," Batali says. Two, as he says in his new show, Mario Eats Italy--shot on location in the motherland--Batali believes that the true basis of a lot of Italian cooking is poverty. Those who can't afford much don't waste something as precious as pig lips. Three, Batali thinks it's funny to serve headcheese for 10 bucks.

Batali doesn't charge a fortune for his delectable meals. Though Babbo can easily set you back $60 a person before drinks, you can dine at his other two New York City restaurants, Esca and Lupa, for half that, which is cheap in Manhattan for top-notch meals. (One midtown restaurant offers a prix-fixe dinner for $160.)

Batali has had offers to open ristorantes in other cities, and he may one day, but he doesn't like to be more than an hour from his kitchens. He and his business partner do have a wine shop in New York (the Italian Wine Merchant, of course). Next summer, he may open an ice-cream shop, where the servers will use a flat spatula, not a scoop, just as they do in Italy.

For a regular guy, in other words, Batali can get pretty fussy. And he has a rather extravagant sense of the role cooking can play in our lives. In Holiday Food, he talks of his family's joy at coming together to chop and blanch and bake and consume. When he was a kid, he says, "any meals served at our house were mapped out at least a month in advance." To many home cooks who can barely heat up a pizza after a long day, Batali's heavenly kitchen may sound like hell.

With all his ventures, does Batali have enough time to spend in his own kitchens? He says yes, and he proves it one day at Babbo when he gets in a quiver over a cardoon (sort of a cross between celery and artichoke). "Those great spiky leaves, that bitter, dirty-weed smell..." His voice trails off as though an ordinary vegetable has left him speechless with delight. But once again, it tastes wonderful when he puts a little vinegar and olive oil on it. That's the sign of a great chef: someone who takes a dirty weed and turns it into perfection.