Rao’s in East Harlem is the holy grail of NYC’s toughest reservations. At this 1896 restaurant—an impossible table since the late ’70s—there’s no online reservation platform or walk-in waitlist. The only way to eat here is to either have a standing table, or know someone who has an in.
For years, we dismissed the cash-only, old-school Italian institution as unattainable for average diners without connections, like us. Until one day, we wondered: What would it take to eat at Rao’s? We started with becoming regulars for drinks at the bar—which is open to anyone. After four visits, they finally took pity on us, offering us the worst table in the house. This is our journey.
VISIT ONE
Rao’s is on a quiet corner of Pleasant Ave., a 15-minute walk from the subway. When we arrive shortly after they open at 7pm, it’s clear that absolutely no one is taking the MTA to get here. Chauffeured limos and Escalades with Connecticut plates pull up at consistent intervals, and out pour regulars with a propensity for hair gel, gold chains, and fake tans. The bar looks intimidatingly packed as we peek in from the street.
photo credit: Alex Staniloff
So we pull a 180 to get dinner at Patsy’s, then slink back at around 9pm, fortified by pizza. We mutter “Just a drink….” to a member of the staff who looks like he has questions, and settle into the now much-emptier bar.
We order drinks, are told no, we cannot order food at the bar, and feel awkward. The lack of hooks leaves our winter coats dredged in Rao’s floor dust. None of the men in crisp suits and silk ties, or women with Farrah Fawcett blowouts seem to be having this problem. That mozzarella in carrozza and those lamb chops they’re eating do look fantastic though.
video credit: Britt Lam
There is one auspicious sign. An older bar patron in a tracksuit and a big gold cross introduces himself as Bobby and gives us his business card. Our table-scoring strategy is pretty hazy at this point—we’re just looking for any kind of in, even Bobby, who leaves after finishing his drink.
We call it a night. We’re feeling hopeful in the presence of the bartender’s bedazzled vest and warmed by the smell of garlic. Sonal texts Bobby the next morning, angling. He never texts back.
video credit: Britt Lam
video credit: Willa Moore
VISIT TWO
Even though it’s January, nothing has changed since the holidays (those Christmas lights never do come down). Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that nothing has changed since 1896. Except the jukebox, which is a Touch Tunes.
We drink, and listen to a bunch of people sing “Sweet Caroline,” having what seems like the best night of their lives. At the bar, you’re more a fly on the wall to someone else’s best night ever. We try counting the number of straws popping out of lipsticked ladies’ wine glasses and give up.
video credit: Britt Lam
For two people who think about food all day long, it’s especially torturous to see and smell the famous meatballs go by under our noses. They look so bold and saucy.
Leftovers are packed up and stacked in to-go boxes near the door. There’s a thought. We ask the bartender if they do takeout. “Only for people we know,” he says.
We have to start somewhere, so we ask him his name, which is D, and how long he’s been at Rao’s. “Not too long,” he replies, then laughs, “only 23 years.”
Absolutely taunted by the baked clams sparkling under commendable glugs of olive oil, we have to go find some food. When D gives us the bill, it says “Girls” on it. We’re not regulars yet.
photo credit: Sonal Shah
photo credit: Sonal Shah
VISIT THREE
Going to Rao’s for a drink is fun. Once. Maybe twice. But by the third visit we’ve run out of outfits, been scarred by a cosmo that tasted like a juice box, and wondered at least once if things would be different if we owned a pair of stilettos. Rao’s is starting to feel like a chore, and their refusal to offer us a table is getting personal. When D pulls a Hostess cupcake out of his pocket and eats it right in front of us, it feels like an attack.
But there’s a brief glimmer of hope. Tommy, who wears a snapback and basketball shorts—like most of the guys who work here—asks if we want to check our coats. There’s a coat check! We tip excessively, and also leave a good tip on our martini and cosmo. Our bill still says “Girls,” but at least D remembers us, and also offers to take a picture of us cheers-ing, which turns out to be a video.
video credit: The Bartender at Rao’s
VISIT FOUR
Things are off to a bad start. It’s raining so hard, and we’re so hungry at around 6:30pm that we almost ditch. Instead, we get significantly more dressed up for Rao’s than we have before. All that leopard print and leather exposure is rubbing off.
When we arrive, Tommy takes our coats, almost like we belong here. We notice it’s pretty empty tonight. He says it might be the weather. Sonal tells Tommy to look out for a table because we’d really, really like to try a meatball. “Maybe someday!”
A few people trickle in with crosses on their foreheads—it’s Ash Wednesday. A man in an elegant suit, who we’ve seen a few times, greets them, and then introduces himself to us as co-owner Ron Straci, great-grandchild of Charles Rao over there in the portrait.
video credit: Britt Lam
Ron cheek-kisses a man in a Prada raincoat, before diluting his Aperol with soda water. “Are you ladies behaving yourselves?” he asks. We say we’re trying, ha ha ha. Willa leans across the bar and throws it back at him, “Hey Ron! Are you behaving yourself?” There’s a painful moment of silence, then he laughs: “Yes! Cause I don’t have an option.”
It’s a two-martini evening. Sonal has a gut feeling. Willa can’t relate. The second round arrives, and suddenly Ron is standing in front of us. “You ladies still behaving yourselves?” We nod, smile. Stay cool. He shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s not about to make our wildest dreams come true: “Wanna eat?”
We’re able to hold it together just long enough to say yes please. Ron explains that a couple left early. He goes to set it up. We hug. One of us sheds a tear. (Or maybe it’s the two martinis on an empty stomach.)
video credit: Sonal Shah
video credit: Sonal Shah
We’re seated at the random two-top that’s jammed between the fluorescent kitchen and the takeout boxes. Joe the pastel-suited maitre d’ pulls up a chair, like we’ve seen him do at countless other tables. There is no menu at Rao’s, so he rattles off what they’ve got and we burble out our order, repeating the word meatballs several times more than necessary.
We don’t know how much anything costs. With just about $300 in cash, Sonal calls her husband, who comes to the door with another $300. He wants to know if he can join us, but we send him back out into the rainy night.
Somewhere between our pastas and a veal chop, Willa gets to talking with a 14-year-old who’s playing a game on his phone. He’s here with his dad—who uses his grandfather’s table reservation for “work.” The teenager, who has eaten at Rao’s four or five times, asks us how we ended up at “the charity table.” Turns out, this two-top is the one they occasionally auction off to the public for various causes. It’s only slightly humiliating to hear that out loud. But he seems impressed by our good fortune.
Another dinner guest asks Ron if anyone ever manages to walk in for a table. He points at us, and they clap.
video credit: Willa Moore
video credit: Sonal Shah
After an hours-long meal that’s far better and less expensive than expected ($340, including three martinis, two espresso martinis, a glass of wine, tax, and tip), we do some merch shopping. T-shirts (and slight hangovers) or it didn’t happen.
But even if you follow our playbook—show up often, including in bad weather, dressed well, and possibly on the first day of Lent—there’s no guarantee you’ll get a table at Rao’s. We’re not even necessarily recommending that you try. But at this ultimate, not-quite-private New York members club, the game of trying is the whole point. You can’t eat at Rao’s—until you can.
Food RundownEspresso Martini
If you can handle the after-hours caffeine, the espresso martini is our favorite drink here. D shakes it to the point of perfect froth.
video credit: Britt Lam
Dirty Martini
There are no toothpicks at Rao’s, so the olives languish in the glass until you make it to the bottom (disciplined) or stick your finger in it (kind of gross). Still, something about drinking a $20 martini at Rao’s feels very right. They just happen to taste like olive juice-accented rubbing alcohol. Become OK with this.
White Wine
The white wine could benefit from a proper chill. Nobody seems to care.
Cosmopolitan
We once saw a lime in the chef’s Corona, but we’ve never seen a real lime behind the bar at Rao’s, which is likely this cosmo’s downfall. It’s a popular choice, but we’d say avoidable.
video credit: Britt Lam
Roasted Peppers With Mozzarella
A perfectly good starter to go with your table bread, even though it’s easily replicable at home, with or without a jar of Rao’s roasted peppers. It’s good mozzarella, and the golden raisins and pine nuts are a nice touch.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Meatballs
Rao’s most famous dish (even Ina Garten references Rao’s in her recipe) lives up to its reputation. They’re huge—our leftover meatball weighed over 6oz on the scale the next morning—but still soft all the way through, with a moist mix of pork, veal, and beef. The deep red sauce isn’t exactly like jarred Rao’s marinara—it seems to have more fresh tomato in it. Get at least one meatball per person.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Calamari With Hot Peppers
The meatballs overshadow the calamari, but both starters deserve a seat at your table. The fried calamari is lacquered in a sticky, spicy, caramelized fra diavolo-esque sauce, and littered with hot peppers that will in fact light your mouth on fire, but only briefly.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Vodka Pasta
At Rao’s, there is no care for such trivial things as al dente pasta. Pasta is just pasta (specifically, De Cecco), and if it cooks for a minute too long, nobody cares. This one is penne, served under thick and tangy vodka sauce that finds its way into each tube.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Clam Pasta
You can get half orders of the pastas at Rao’s, which is the best way to try as many things as you possibly can, like this clam pasta. The bowl it arrives in nearly overflows with garlicky olive oil and seawater, and though there’s only a couple of clamshells present, there’s enough cut-up bivalves to eat by the spoonful.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Veal Chop With Hot & Sweet Peppers
Those hot pickled peppers make another appearance here, lightly sauteed alongside sweet ones and poured over a bone-in veal chop. If you never opt for the big meaty main, change that tonight.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Broccoli Rabe
A good way to judge an Italian restaurant is their broccoli rabe—if it’s lost all its bitterness, like the one at Rao’s has, the kitchen knows what it’s doing. Still, you might never eat here again. You don’t really need to waste space on a vegetable.
photo credit: Willa Moore
Tartufo
This is a flawless tartufo, with a chunky pistachio ice cream and a pleasantly seedy raspberry filling. Ours was a gift from Joe, the manager, which made it all the sweeter.
photo credit: Willa Moore