Supposedly one of the best Italian restaurants in the city, Mario Batali’s Babbo is certainly among the hardest to get into. The warmly lit, white-walled townhouse is alive with reggae, rock & roll and the ambient chatter of diners who enthusiastically lift pasta-laced forks and wineglasses to their mouths. Sadly, such liveliness can’t be said for the food. The balsamic and brown-butter sauce that bathes the goose liver ravioli can be overly reduced and borderline burnt. And while the grilled pork chop with artichokes and cipollini onions is beautifully caramelized, that’s no great feat. Save for the atmosphere and affordable wines by the quartino, nothing about this restaurant merits the hype.