All chefs have obsessions. Nancy Silverton’s is focaccia, Joe Bastianich’s is wine, and Chad Colby’s is meat. At his enterprise, sandwiched between its larger Mozza siblings, the passion Colby has for butchery is palpable. Diaphanous sheets of speck, lardo-wrapped grissini, and breaded pucks of fried trotters are piled onto picturesque salumi platters. A group of girls dressed for clubbing snap photos of their beef-and-mushroom pie impaled with a roasted marrowbone. The coup de grace comes to the table as a behemoth tomahawk chop, still smoking from the grill and showered with fennel pollen. After the tender slices of pork have vanished, gnawing on the spice-covered bone becomes one of life’s most atavistic pleasures.
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