We all had grand plans to try the new Father's Office on Friday (and yes, this included fortifying ourselves with snacks and courage against the inevitable wait). But Z went AWOL and left us without a good dinner option (no way we could risk it a man down). R and I decided to make an impulsive and financially unwise decision, one that others have made before and will make again. It starts with an M and ends with an ozzarella bar. I think you know what I'm talking about...
The meal, for the record, was absolutely delicious. I insisted on getting the Crispy Pigs Trotter with cicoria & mustard again because, well, they're pig trotters. They were as I remembered-- comforting, tasting slightly of fall, and one of those cases where knowing what you're eating really improves instead of diminishes the experience. Talk about eating the entire animal... That said, the real hits of the evening came from the focused, powerful hands of our city’s Patron Saint of All Thing Culinary. Nancy. A thousand times Nancy.
Burrata with grilled asparagus, brown butter, guanciale & Sicilian almonds. Complex, playful, sweet, but not overly rich. A joy for the mouth-- be it subtle tasting device or childhood pie hole. Equally as delicious was the Burricotti with braised artichokes, pine nuts, currants & mint pesto. Summery, sweet (in an entirely different way), beautifully textured. At best, Mozza takes the best version of simple, familiar ingredients and puts them together in a way that tastes, at the same time, like something you feel you should have thought of before and also something more layered and exciting than you ever would have thought possible. It's that perfect combination of tradition and insight.
Halfway through the delectable Mozzarella Bar offerings, I remembered that I desperately had to pee, and was headed to the bathroom before the food arrived. Since my fear of peeing my pants (yes-- I get that distracted by food) had already made me feel like a first grader, the giant hulking man with braided hair who emerged just as I was about to enter it scared the crap out of me. A boy who has to pee does not a giant appreciate. I suppose I was vaguely comforted by the fact that he looked sort of familiar. I decided that he must be one of the bodyguards from 30 Rock.
Luckily, R had left a little of the cheesy wonders for me when I got back, and I promptly forgot about my run-in with the giant. It was not until halfway through the pastas (Tagliatelle with oxtail ragu and Fresh Ricotta & Egg Raviolo with browned butter—delicious!) that I realized what had eluded me by the bathroom. First, I saw the same braided giant. And I’m not joking here—he was really a giant. AND THEN—there was another giant behind him! And this one definitely wasn’t on 30 Rock. And then-- behind him— was the homeless looking, even gianter giant who gave it all away-- Pau Gasol!
Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m a fair-weather basketball fan. I loosely follow the season and only start to really watch Lakers’ games when the playoffs begin. Even so, when the Lakers have recently made a trade that could make them elite for the first time since they lost the giant of all giants; and they’ve just swept the first round of the playoffs; and you’re eating Mozza pasta; and it’s the Lakers-- meaning all of the Lakers! Together! It’s pretty damn exciting.
I love LA. I am a firm believer that when people dis the city it’s because they have too narrow view of it. I think to myself, “if you know my LA, you wouldn’t feel that way.” But how is it possible that I was the only one who started clapping when THE LAKERS came out of the back room? There are some moments when, no matter how nice the restaurant, no matter how important the pitch you’re making, no matter how nice your thong-ie slippers, you hoot and holler like anyone else would. At best, sports bring a city together. They give people a chance to feel passion, pride, and loss in a way they would not otherwise feel safe to feel them. Our premier team just emerged from the secret Warner’s room wedged between the two Mozzas after just sweeping the first round of the play-offs. You clap. Or at least, I clap. Only me. At Mozza.
So there we were, half-way through our meal, watching the Lakers lumber out of Mozza. Everyone was there except Kobe. “That’s the trouble with superstars,” I thought to myself. I turned back to R to comment on the fact and then realized that not only was Kobe there, he was standing right behind us. He was, I think, settling the bill (MVP! MVP!). I am proud to say that, as he walked by, I shouted like a little girl “Good luck, Kobe! You’re really great!” Was it insightful? No. Was it reserved and thoughtful and considerate of all the good things and bad things in this man’s past? No. But goddamnit it was fun. R and I both grinned like idiots for the rest of the dinner.
I work in movies. I grew up around actors and see them on a regular basis. I hate the idea of going to a place with worse food and more famous people. But at the end of the day, it’s exciting to have a really great celebrity sighting. It actually does heighten the experience. Something special has happened, and when a meal itself is special, forget about it! My friend later informed me that the whole team had gotten together to watch the final Jazz/Rockets game and see who they would face in the next round of the play-offs. How cool is it that they did it at Mozza? Go Lakers! Go LA! But most of all, go Nancy!
The meal, for the record, was absolutely delicious. I insisted on getting the Crispy Pigs Trotter with cicoria & mustard again because, well, they're pig trotters. They were as I remembered-- comforting, tasting slightly of fall, and one of those cases where knowing what you're eating really improves instead of diminishes the experience. Talk about eating the entire animal... That said, the real hits of the evening came from the focused, powerful hands of our city’s Patron Saint of All Thing Culinary. Nancy. A thousand times Nancy.
Burrata with grilled asparagus, brown butter, guanciale & Sicilian almonds. Complex, playful, sweet, but not overly rich. A joy for the mouth-- be it subtle tasting device or childhood pie hole. Equally as delicious was the Burricotti with braised artichokes, pine nuts, currants & mint pesto. Summery, sweet (in an entirely different way), beautifully textured. At best, Mozza takes the best version of simple, familiar ingredients and puts them together in a way that tastes, at the same time, like something you feel you should have thought of before and also something more layered and exciting than you ever would have thought possible. It's that perfect combination of tradition and insight.
Halfway through the delectable Mozzarella Bar offerings, I remembered that I desperately had to pee, and was headed to the bathroom before the food arrived. Since my fear of peeing my pants (yes-- I get that distracted by food) had already made me feel like a first grader, the giant hulking man with braided hair who emerged just as I was about to enter it scared the crap out of me. A boy who has to pee does not a giant appreciate. I suppose I was vaguely comforted by the fact that he looked sort of familiar. I decided that he must be one of the bodyguards from 30 Rock.
Luckily, R had left a little of the cheesy wonders for me when I got back, and I promptly forgot about my run-in with the giant. It was not until halfway through the pastas (Tagliatelle with oxtail ragu and Fresh Ricotta & Egg Raviolo with browned butter—delicious!) that I realized what had eluded me by the bathroom. First, I saw the same braided giant. And I’m not joking here—he was really a giant. AND THEN—there was another giant behind him! And this one definitely wasn’t on 30 Rock. And then-- behind him— was the homeless looking, even gianter giant who gave it all away-- Pau Gasol!
Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m a fair-weather basketball fan. I loosely follow the season and only start to really watch Lakers’ games when the playoffs begin. Even so, when the Lakers have recently made a trade that could make them elite for the first time since they lost the giant of all giants; and they’ve just swept the first round of the playoffs; and you’re eating Mozza pasta; and it’s the Lakers-- meaning all of the Lakers! Together! It’s pretty damn exciting.
I love LA. I am a firm believer that when people dis the city it’s because they have too narrow view of it. I think to myself, “if you know my LA, you wouldn’t feel that way.” But how is it possible that I was the only one who started clapping when THE LAKERS came out of the back room? There are some moments when, no matter how nice the restaurant, no matter how important the pitch you’re making, no matter how nice your thong-ie slippers, you hoot and holler like anyone else would. At best, sports bring a city together. They give people a chance to feel passion, pride, and loss in a way they would not otherwise feel safe to feel them. Our premier team just emerged from the secret Warner’s room wedged between the two Mozzas after just sweeping the first round of the play-offs. You clap. Or at least, I clap. Only me. At Mozza.
So there we were, half-way through our meal, watching the Lakers lumber out of Mozza. Everyone was there except Kobe. “That’s the trouble with superstars,” I thought to myself. I turned back to R to comment on the fact and then realized that not only was Kobe there, he was standing right behind us. He was, I think, settling the bill (MVP! MVP!). I am proud to say that, as he walked by, I shouted like a little girl “Good luck, Kobe! You’re really great!” Was it insightful? No. Was it reserved and thoughtful and considerate of all the good things and bad things in this man’s past? No. But goddamnit it was fun. R and I both grinned like idiots for the rest of the dinner.
I work in movies. I grew up around actors and see them on a regular basis. I hate the idea of going to a place with worse food and more famous people. But at the end of the day, it’s exciting to have a really great celebrity sighting. It actually does heighten the experience. Something special has happened, and when a meal itself is special, forget about it! My friend later informed me that the whole team had gotten together to watch the final Jazz/Rockets game and see who they would face in the next round of the play-offs. How cool is it that they did it at Mozza? Go Lakers! Go LA! But most of all, go Nancy!
1 comment:
heh heh. very funny. seriously, i just reread that post to a fellow sitting near me, and we both laughed out loud. what a wonderful blog. yummy food descriptions, hilarious-they-could-only-happen-in-LA anecdotes, and the pictures are great. keep posting, baddiefishes!
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