By Marco Shalma.

There are two types of famous people in New York.

The ones who want to be noticed.

And the ones who would prefer you didn’t.

Adam Driver is very clearly the second type. And his food choices follow that same logic. No fluff. No theater. No “let me tell you why this matters.” He eats like someone who treats meals the same way he treats work. Serious. Focused. Efficient. Respectful of the craft.

This is not a man bouncing around trendy counters asking what’s special tonight. He is not crowdsourcing opinions. He is not open to being convinced.

He knows what he wants.

Start with Italian. Real Italian. The kind of places where the walls have absorbed decades of conversations and nobody rushes you unless you deserve it. Emilio’s Ballato is a perfect example. Dark room. Heavy plates. Staff that has seen everything. This is a restaurant for people who don’t need novelty. They need execution. Pasta done right. Meat cooked properly. End of discussion.

Then there’s Bamonte’s in Williamsburg. Old-school Brooklyn. Red sauce, history, zero concern for trends. You don’t go there to be impressed. You go there to eat like adults used to eat before menus started apologizing for themselves. This fits him perfectly. Quiet confidence. No theatrics. Just food that shows up and does its job.

Keens Steakhouse belongs in this orbit too. Not flashy steakhouse culture. Institutional New York. Mutton chops, dark wood, waiters who don’t smile unless you earn it. This is where you go when you want consistency, not spectacle. A place where seriousness is not a vibe, it’s policy.

Minetta Tavern also makes sense here, but not for the scene. For the food. The Black Label burger is heavy, deliberate, and unapologetic. This is not a burger trying to reinvent itself. It’s a burger that knows it’s better than most things on the menu and doesn’t need to talk about it.

John’s of 12th Street rounds it out. Big portions. Old-school comfort. A room that feels lived in. It’s not trying to charm you. It’s feeding you.

Put these together and you get a very clear food personality.

Adam Driver eats like a Professional.

The Professional New York eater values seriousness over novelty. Craft over clout. Rooms over concepts. These are people who don’t want to think too much when they eat because they already think all day. They want restaurants that remove decision fatigue, not add to it.

The Professional orders fast. No substitutions. No long conversations with the server. They respect places that respect themselves. They like menus that haven’t changed much because that means someone got it right a long time ago.

They are suspicious of anything described as “playful.”

They don’t hate new spots. They just don’t trust them yet. Survival matters. Time matters. If a restaurant has been open for decades, that’s proof. If it’s still busy without begging for attention, that’s credibility.

The Professional does not eat for nostalgia, but they respect it. They understand that good food is not loud. It doesn’t need a manifesto. It doesn’t need to be explained by a host with a microphone.

This is New York eating as structure. Food as fuel, but good fuel. The kind that lets you get back to work without distraction.

And there’s something grounding about that in a city obsessed with reinvention. Adam Driver eating at places that don’t care who he is feels right. These rooms don’t flatter. They don’t perform. They deliver.

In a world where everyone is chasing the next thing, he’s choosing places that already did the work.

That’s not boring.

That’s discipline.

And discipline, in New York, has always been a quiet flex.