After many failed attempts to sit down with Chef Mario Batali, whose schedule has fewer holes than a malformed sex doll, I finally got few minutes with the man. We met shortly before the beginning of a Magic Martinis & Mario charity dinner, an event Batali was hosting at Del Posto. Something I never realized about Batali is how freckled and fair he is and also how strong his Pac West intonations are. It's almost Vancouverian.
Batali, in trademark orange clogs, shorts and an orange duct tape tie made by his son, Leo, shakes my hand.
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