The 20 Best L.A. Italian Restaurants – Part 9 of 10
| ||||||||||||||
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
It's a Man's World
Matteo's is the most beautiful living restaurant from Hollywood's golden age, lipstick-red booths, clown paintings, leopard-print carpet and all. The flattering pink light makes the aging Sammy Glicks who frequent the joint look almost dewy, which is why they've been coming here since 1963, to listen to Sinatra, eat steak Sinatra and stare lovingly at the oil portrait of Sinatra hung over what may or may not be his usual table. Don Dickman, the former chef of the innard-intensive Santa Monica Trattoria Rocca, was brought in to sweep the cobwebs from the menu, so in addition to the familiar roll call of New Jersey Italian cooking, there are Dickman's masculine takes on regional Italian cuisine: sunny-side-up eggs rolled in coarse bread crumbs and fried crisp around pencil-thin asparagus; a Little Italy–style pasta Norcina with gooey pockets of sausage, roasted peppers and molten mozzarella; and spaghetti carbonara made with the real, authentically stinky bits of cured hog jowl that are essential to any true conception of the dish. As at Rocca, Dickman's ideas are too often sabotaged by sloppiness in execution — short ribs were undercooked and chewy rather than melting and luscious, and a dish of scallops was way overcooked — but it is all done so cheerfully that you wish the restaurant well. The wine list has been colonized by the Italophile mysterians over at Wine Expo, which means that it is rich in Bonardas and short on Merlot. This is a good thing.
2321 Westwood Blvd., Wstwd., (310) 475-4521.
Neologistic Cuisine
For most of its existence, Dominick's was famous as the Hollywood restaurant that never looked open, a weathered, low building, neon permanently unlit, across from the small amusement park that later became the site of the Beverly Center. It was, or at least had a reputation as, the original Rat Pack hangout. And when it finally changed hands, it was made over into a neo–Rat Pack steakhouse, then a neo-neo–Rat Pack fusion place, then a couple of other things I don't remember until it finally ended up as a pleasant, much-enlarged, neo-neo-neo–Rat Pack restaurant with late hours, a killer recipe for spaghetti and meatballs, a menu equally divided between tough-guy American-Italian cooking and girly, salady stuff, not to mention $15 Sunday dinners that come with the option of a $10 bottle of a house wine with the unfortunate name of Dago Red. Oddly, it is a very pleasant place to be, even when you are not watching young television stars grope one another, which you usually are.
8715 Beverly Blvd., W. Hlywd., (310) 652-2335.
That's Italian?
There is a pizzeria in the Marina famous for its adherence to the mandates of the Association of Real Neapolitan Pizza, and its girth, toppings, kneading, cheese and tomato sauce are all exactly what the Italian government insists a true pizza should be. Yet nine days out of 10, I prefer the brawny, high-mannerist pies that issue from the ovens at Zelo — an Angeleno interpretation of a San Francisco interpretation of a Chicago interpretation of a New York City interpretation of what a Neapolitan pizza should be, and totally, totally good. Crispness is generally a virtue in pizza, but Zelo's crust, enriched with cornmeal, is almost beyond crisp, a crackling, luscious, tooth-shattering crispness with the staying power of a Hendrix chord. Pepperoni pizza, sir? Only if you'd like it with fontina cheese and fresh mushrooms. My favorite, irregularly heaped with corn kernels, roasted torpedo onions glazed with balsamic vinegar, and snipped chives, is oddly reminiscent of a great antipasto table in Tuscany — totally Italian, and at the same time as un-Italian as you can imagine.
328 E. Foothill Blvd., Arcadia, (626) 358-8298.
<< Previous • 9 • Next >>
| Source: Originally published by L. A. Weekly – ©2007 L. A. Weekly |
|
Home • General Index • Contact Us • Search • News • About Us • Site Map |
