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Remember when Serafina was Plan B when you couldn’t snag a table at Trattoria Dell’arte or at the Carlyle? Now spreading its empire to more nabes than Brother Jimmy’s (Serafina Sao Paulo, who knew?), its latest MePa rendition caters more to wannabe models and bottles than those who like, you know, that whole eating thing. The red-sole splattered street corner paves way to an airy entrance where the upscale Italian bistro plants its feet in this fashionable area. The catching graffiti-ed walls feel more LES than les exclusive, but throw back a couple of glasses of vino from their extensive wine list and you won’t be all that bothered. On any given night, you might be serenaded by anything from electrifying DJ beats to a live violin rock concert, but the omnipresent line for the bathroom will always make you feel right at home...stuck in a 1980s Jay McInerney novel where the white powdery stuff was for your nose and not manifesting in the form of parmigiano shavings in a land where rigatoni reigns. Because, oh yeah, there’s food here. Apparently.