When I meet Rita Sodi and Jody Williams at a quiet corner table at Bar Pisellino, they have one thing on their minds: scallops, enormous ones. So big, in fact, that they’re torn on whether to include one or two in the dish they’ll feature on the menu at Via Carota tonight. Listening to the couple debate the issue answers my most pressing question—how they built New York’s most warmhearted restaurant empire in just over 15 years and managed to maintain a loving relationship in the process—in a matter of minutes.
The empire in question comprises five eateries, a wine shop, and a provisions shop—Buvette, I Sodi, Via Carota, Bar Pisellino, Commerce Inn, Officina del Bere, and Officina 1397—all clustered in the West Village and offering a homespun but no less exacting alternative to the high-throttle spirit of downtown New York hospitality.
“We live in the neighborhood, so when we think about starting something new, we think about what we’re missing here,” Williams explains, citing Bar Pisellino, the duo’s morning-till-late Italian aperitivo bar, as an example. “It was the kind of place that we wished was around the corner. It’s been a personal journey more than a business plan.” (Industry rumor has it that the next step in this journey will bring them out of the neighborhood for the first time—and into a new partnership with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The pair says they know nothing of this.)
For an industry that demands everything of you, this approach makes sense. If you’re going to spend all your time in the kitchen, why not do it near your house and with your other half? For Williams, “working with the person whose success matters to you most is great. It’s hard sometimes. We disagree, but with the person you love, you’re always going to take the time to see their perspective. There’s no ego involved.”
Case in point: “We used to joke, if we want to see each other more—we should open a restaurant,” Williams quips. That one-liner became Via Carota, which opened its doors in 2014. At the time, each had been manning their own ships—Williams’s Buvette, the supremely convivial all-day French café-bistro, and Sodi’s namesake I Sodi, the Tuscan restaurant inspired by the farm where she grew up—for three and six years, respectively.
They were working long days, cooking long nights, and even taking out the trash and locking up themselves. (Williams had been making the rounds in New York restaurant kitchens since her mid-20s; Sodi opened I Sodi after 25 years in fashion, ending at Calvin Klein.) Carota marked their first on-the-books collaboration and a leap of faith, doubling their commitment as they continued to run their original operations. (Commerce Inn and Bar Pisellino followed soon after.)
It may be cliché, but it’s true: The restaurant community feels a deep responsibility to its local patrons. In New York, where places to gather are few and far between, restaurants serve as a treasured form of public space. While the motivations for a restaurateur may not be quite so pure, for Williams and Sodi, the conversation inevitably circles back to a desire to contribute a consistent good to their bustling (and rapidly changing) neighborhood: ensuring its denizens are well-fed.
“The other day, a regular came by I Sodi, who’d been eating there since he was a little kid,” Sodi recalls. “And he was with his fiancée. I have to say I felt proud.” The prestige, whether in the form of James Beard awards or ever-full reservation books, is more of a side dish.
Presently, Williams and Sodi turn their attention back to the menu, a sign that our conversation is winding down. Their next dilemma? When tomatoes will be ready this season. Sodi insists they’ll have to be extra patient: “It’s going to be late this year—maybe July.” Williams weighs her partner’s verdict. Whatever they decide, we, the loyal customers, are the beneficiaries of their deliberations.
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