Iam a creature of habit and of comfort. This is not to say I’m an unadventurous eater; I’ll give almost anything a try, so long as it doesn’t include goat cheese or Brazil nuts. (The former is a taste thing, the latter a nonsensical allergy.) Left to my own devices, however, I return again and again to the things I know and love: my favorite feel-good movies, the same local coffee shop, the same old hotels in the same old cities.

Belotti’s spaghetti pomodoro ($19.95) is on this list of cherished classics I continuously return to. There is the obvious argument for making a dish like this at home, of course, and there’s the even more compelling idea that one should branch out at Belotti and certainly order their hen-of-the-woods pappardelle, or perhaps the bigoli in duck sugo. But the pull

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