Breaking Martorano’s Balls

We don’t know what’s more offensive about this ode to the Sopranos in the Rio: the glare, the stare, the unappetizing tats, or the $23 meatball on the menu.

The egotistical entreaty: “Don’t break my balls.” printed on the menu is a lame, preemptive strike against any Paulie Walnuts wannabe who might complain about the excessive prices, and the highly mediocre Southern Italian food. Single diners aren’t allowed at tables (even when the place is empty, and likely to remain that way for hours), and no one is allowed to drink cocktails in the dining room for fear of corrupting such innovative recipes as chicken parmagiana and veal marsala.

That $23 meatball, is no joke either, and whether you are a meatball, or just love them, you’ll find better ones at Rao’s just down the street.