Crowded, Overpriced, And Overrated
Ever since Eataly opened in New York
back in 2010, I've been jonesing to go. I don't go to New York if I
can help it. In fact, I drive around the place as much as possible,
not being much of a fan of traffic, tolls, and crowds. So when they
opened another Eataly location in Chicago, I was really tempted
to make a pilgrimage. Not that Chicago doesn't have traffic or tolls
or crowds, but, having grown up in Chicagoland, I can at least deal
with them a little better. Then, lo and behold, the Batali and
Bastianich partnership went and opened a brand new Eataly in the
Prudential Center in Boston. Hot damn! Of course, New York and
Chicago are closer to where I live by one hundred and two hundred
miles, respectively, but I really like Boston – especially the
North End – and have occasion to travel there a couple of times a
year. So Boston it shall be for my Eataly initiation!
In case you have no
idea what I'm talking about, Eataly started out in Turin, Italy in
2007. Now expanding worldwide, it is a huge open Italian market
containing restaurants, grocers, bakers, butchers, fishmongers,
cheese mongers, pasta makers, wine merchants and just about any other
form of Italian food vendor you can think of. It's basically an
Italian food hall on steroids. And since I live in a little town
where the only Italian ingredients readily available to me are found
in the “ethnic” aisle at the grocery store, a place like Eataly
is a long-held dream come true. Sadly, the dream turned out to be
more of a nightmare.
I had some specific
items in mind when I arrived at the Prudential Center on a frigid
December afternoon. My son had asked me for some help in perfecting
his pizza dough, so I wanted some 00 flour. Since we were making
pizza, I also wanted San Marzano tomatoes. I was drooling over the
prospect of some wonderfully crusty fresh bread that I didn't have to
make myself. I had in mind a soup that uses potato gnocchi. I was
also looking for some real Italian-made pasta for a nice spaghetti
dinner. I love my De Cecco and Barilla, mind you, but I was hoping to
find something a little less.......common. I guess. Giddy at the
potential prospects ahead of us, my wife and I got out of the car in
the parking garage – thankful that we didn't have to venture into
the sub-zero wind chill outside – and rode the escalator up to
Eataly.
Pandemonium met us.
The crowds, even at
two o' clock on a Thursday afternoon, were absolutely overwhelming.
You couldn't actually choose where you wanted to start; you just
stepped into the wave and hoped the tide carried you in the right
general direction. My wife is not exactly agoraphobic, but I could
sense her growing anxiety as she was bumped, jostled, shaken and
stirred by the surrounding sea of humanity. It was clear that this
was not going to be a pleasant, leisurely shopping trip. It was rapidly
turning into an expedition; an exercise in survival. And then there
was the fire alarm.
Almost
immediately after getting swept into the maelstrom, a blaring klaxon
began to sound and an amplified voice informed us that a fire had
been reported in a retail area. We were advised to “stand by for
further information” – at least I think that's
what was being said. The crowd itself raised such a din as to
overpower the announcement and the alarm, which continued to jangle
our already jangled nerves as the attendant warning lights flashed.
This went on for what seemed like hours, although it was probably
about five minutes before the piercing racket ceased and the “all
clear” was announced. Welcome to Eataly.
The map I had
picked up at the door was useless; standing still long enough to
consult it was tantamount to suicide by trampling. Looking around
“together” was impossible. We each drifted wherever the current
took us, occasionally breaking free and fighting toward something of
interest. I swear to God I will never again complain about shopping
at Walmart.
I have no doubt
they had some wonderful stuff at Eataly, but I sure as hell didn't
get to see any of it. All I saw were asses and elbows. I got twisted
and bent in so many directions I'm not entirely sure the asses and
elbows I was seeing weren't sometimes my own. Now I'm not browsing
anymore. Now I'm on a mission: find what I came for and get the hell
out of here. Alas, that was not to be the case.
They had exactly
one bag of “Tipo 00” flour. Priced at $6.80 for 2.2 pounds.
Outrageous, but I bought it. You see, you have to take out a loan to
park at the Prudential Center in the first place, but if you buy at
least ten dollars' worth of merchandise within you can get your
parking validated down to only fourteen dollars for the first four
hours. My little bag of flour got me a little over halfway there. The
two packets of two-dollar spaghetti I bought got me the rest of the
way to the goal. Or I could have bought one package of the stuff with
Lidia's picture on it.
San
Marzano tomatoes? Oh, they were there, but I could have booked
passage to Italy and picked them myself for less. Same with the
bread. I could have bought two or three loaves at the panetteria
at Bricco over on Hanover Street
for what one would have cost me at Eataly. Gnocchi? They had it,
alright. Some was made with pumpkin and they had some stuffed with
all kinds of stuff, but plain ol' potato gnocchi like I needed for my
simple soup? Nah. At least none that I could see as I was driven
through the fresh pasta section like a steer on its way to the Dodge
City stockyards.
We
were hungry. A break for a bite sounded like a good idea. We stopped
at a sit-down place called La Pizza e La Pasta. How
long is the wait? 90 minutes, you say? No, thank you. “Make a stop
at La Piazza,” the
map says. “Enjoy an aperitivo of
wine and cheese, just like in Italy,” the map says. R-i-i-i-i-ght!
What the map doesn't say is that you can fly to Italy faster. And
cheaper. And with fewer crowds. I Panini E Le Ciabatte
looked promising, but by then
all we wanted was out.
I went
to Eataly with the idea in mind of buying a few ingredients for a
couple of simple meals. I couldn't find half of what I was looking
for and I couldn't afford the other half. After all, I only had a few
hundred bucks to spend. Overrated, overpriced, and thoroughly
disappointing, Eataly was definitely not worth the seven hundred mile
drive. No, I'm not crazy enough to make that kind of drive for a
shopping trip. I was passing through the area anyway and only made a
slight detour. But I won't go back to Eataly again even when I'm
already in town. You know where I found my flour? A couple of blocks
over at DeLuca's Market on Newbury Street. Three ninety-nine a bag.
And there are shops and restaurants all over the North End that are
equally well-stocked, cheaper, and a helluva lot more fun to visit.
Give me Bricco Salumeria & Pasta Shoppe on Hanover Street or
Salumeria Italiana on Richmond Street. Nobody beats Mike's Pastry on
Hanover Street for cannoli. And you probably won't have a ninety
minute wait at Pizzeria Regina. Sure, it's not “one stop shopping,”
but you know what? I don't care.
Eataly Boston: with apologies to Julius
Caesar, Veni, vidi, remansit frustra.
I'm sorry to hear your experience was awful! I'm from Rome and we all love Eataly! It is a little overpriced and you gotta be careful what you're buying on order to keep it economically doable, but overall it's always a great experience for me and my family to go there. I'm sure your experience probably had to do with the fact that the Boston location was so new and everyone lost their heads to make it there. I understand your frustrations, but maybe the possibility of having a slice of Italy in America is worth a second chance ;)
ReplyDeleteCiao! Leonardo.