The words "rustic" and "Italian" have taken on a new meaning

Last Friday, I really wanted to impress my little DC visitor with a true taste of what the big NY had to offer. I picked Peasant mainly because:
a) I can't say no to pasta
b) Everyone's been raving and I had to see what it was all about

We get to the larger than expected Elizabeth Street space and were transported from the minute we walked in. Since we couldn't read the Italian menu, the waitress expertly detailed each and every item on the menu. The sheep's milk ricotta was a great little amuse bouche (not as good as A Voce, but nonetheless). We decided on the spicy octopus ("polpi in purgatorio" = octopus in hell!) which had a little more heat than either of us expected but was so tender neither of us cared. The other appetizer, a creamy yet firm burrata, was a bit more forgettable but soothed our palates.

Game time: orecchiette bathed in a light white wine sauce with the largest, meatiest mussels I've ever seen. Split perfectly onto two plates, Jackie and I were scraping our plates for more. Finally, those of you who know me well know that I don't believe fruit ever belongs in dessert: I like my desserts rich and chocolatey. Well, being the nice host I am, I let my out-of-towner select the peach tart and THANK GOODNESS SHE DID. It was heaven - baked in a little cast iron dish with huge tender slices of peaches and a generous scoop of hazelnut ice cream on top. Perfect for two (or ten).