Lumaca is an Italian restaurant in a Midtown hotel that feels like a billionaire’s study that was turned into a high-end restaurant. It has bookshelves, booths, and big white columns, and it doesn’t get particularly busy. And that’s probably because the food isn’t great. At best, it’s average (the lukewarm truffle arancini, for example, are perfectly fine), and occasionally it’s barely edible. If you’d like to experience this, order the vitello tonato or the warm hamachi crudo topped with orange slices. Better yet, don’t order either of those things, and skip this place altogether.
