Lavo

Don’t hate me because I am beautiful

I prefer to dine at restaurants where people are younger and more attractive than I am, which, since I got my Medicare card recently, are not all that difficult to find in the City of Angels.  Maybe I should rephrase that; I prefer to dine at restaurants where people are much, much younger and much, much more attractive than I am, even if the maître d’ seats me in the ugly section.  If I wanted to dine out with people of my age and appearance, I would catch the early bird special at Denny’s.  I have a friend who has a theory that beautiful people flocked to Los Angeles at the dawn of the Hollywood era, bred, and voilà!; an entire city ready-made for the silver screen.  I don’t need to go to a restaurant only to have the other patrons remind me of my impending demise.  I get enough of this on a daily basis, the bottle of losartan in the medicine cabinet, my upcoming colonoscopy, that patronizing tone that my children use when discussing social media with me. 

My daughter and her twenty-something friends rave about a new restaurant on the Sunset Strip called Lavo.  It’s the place to go, the place to drink, the place to look dazzling, the place to be seen.  But is it the place for outstanding cuisine?  I accepted the challenge to determine the answer.  I put on my trendiest clothes, gelled my hair and raced down Sunset from the 405 to the Strip like James Woods and Jeff Bridges.

The lovely wife and I arrived at the location to which we were directed by Waze (I am so addicted to Waze that I can’t even drive home without that Teutonic voice ordering me where to go, but delving into that addiction will be a topic for a later date).  I immediately discovered that Lavo is in the space at Sunset and Doheny that was previously occupied by an L.A. staple, Hamburger Hamlet, which existed in a bygone era when good hamburgers were served with cheddar cheese and ketchup instead of gruyere and aioli (yet another topic for a later date).  I handed my car key to the valet.  When the sting of the $18 charge wore off and I completed my call to report that charge to the Guinness Book of World Records, we entered the restaurant.  We were greeted at the front desk by not one, not two, but three tall, lithe hostesses, two of whom were Victoria’s Secret Angels while the third had just finished a photo shoot for the cover of Vogue magazine.  We were escorted to our table by the tallest and lithest of the three.  I anticipated being seated in the ugly section but there is no ugly section at Lavo. The patrons (yours truly excluded) appeared to be a casting call for an updated version of The Bold and The Beautiful. To our right was a couple reminiscent of Richard Gere and Julia Roberts.  To our left I recognized a linebacker from the Rams sitting side-by-side with the head cheerleader.

The décor in Lavo is spectacular.  The widely-spaced tables were on a beautiful mosaic tiled floor and were surrounded by tropical plants and trees.  The wall treatments varied from fabrics to tapestries to paintings.  The lamps, the ceilings and the furniture were all customized with varying colors, materials, textures and styles. 

Okay Lavo, you have shown me your pretty face but is there anything else, any substance, any depth?  As I was pondering this age-old question about beauty, the busboy arrived with our water with the choice of grapefruit, lime, or lemon slices.  He also served us a complementary crudité of crisp zucchini, squash, cherry tomatoes and olives topped with drizzle of olive oil.

In order to be fortified for my research, I ordered one of the signature cocktails, a Melograno e Pera.  This margarita variation mixed prickly pear, pomegranate, lime and agave nectar with the tequila.  The drink was topped with a citrus slice and pomegranate seeds and the glass was encrusted with lava salt.

So far, so good, but any restaurant can throw some citrus and veggies at you while impairing your judgment with alcohol.  Lavo’s menu is Italian; would the food survive the scrutiny of my Tuscan bred, born and raised wife?  We started with appetizers.  We ordered the handmade burrata, heirloom tomatoes and eggplant caponata lightly seasoned with basil oil.  The dish arrived with the bonus of a large carta di musica, a traditional thin crispy cracker from the island of Sardinia whose name is Italian for sheet music.  The flavors were as spectacular as the presentation.

We also chose the Romanesco with almonds and raisins.  Romanesco is a bright green vegetable that is similar in appearance to the broccoli/cauliflower hybrid, the broccoflower.  It is sweeter and milder than its cousins.

At this point in the meal, Lavo was beginning to show some character, but would that character withstand an evaluation of the main courses?  I asked our shockingly efficient and knowledgeable waitress to bring the spaghetti with filetto di pomodoro, basil and extra virgin olive oil and the veal chop Milanese with wild arugula and lemon.

Both of these simple dishes can be difficult to prepare properly if the ingredients are not of the best quality or proportioned properly.  The homemade spaghetti was correctly al dente.  The tomato based sauce was light but not runny and had a touch of pesto accent with the basil.  The huge bone-in veal chop (often known as an “elephant ear”) was pounded, lightly-breaded with flour, eggs and seasoned breadcrumbs then pan-fried.  It was tender and juicy but not oily, with a delicate, smooth taste. 

Lavo screams out “Don’t hate me because I am beautiful.”  I intended to hate it, I wanted to hate it, I tried to hate it – but I couldn’t.  I loved Lavo, because it is so much more than just another pretty face.