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There's an impromptu feeling at Angelini that is very appealing. (Anne Cusack / Los Angeles Times) |
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The stark, contemporary Beverly Boulevard storefront of Angelini Osteria is noisy, crowded and full of energy. All around us, the beautiful and the ravenous are diving into plates of bombolotti all' amatriciana or spaghetti with eggplant and ricotta, bickering over who gets the last slice of pizza with cherry tomatoes and burrata, or that last order of oxtail alla vaccinara.
The wine flows. Laughter erupts in one corner and then another. Waiters, mostly Italian and male, are cheerful and engaging, urging on diners by saying almost every dish under consideration is "fantastico."
I'm always amazed how the cooks can turn out such an extensive menu in such a minuscule space. Everybody must enjoy all the togetherness, though -- the bumping of chairs, the waiters threading their way through the room with trays of salt-encrusted branzino or an enormous veal shank held aloft -- or they wouldn't be here.
One night a waiter sets a heavy tray on a folding stand 2 inches from my elbow, between our table and the next. "Oof! You get to watch the show," he jokes. And he proceeds to deftly filet the branzino.
Meanwhile, the barista churns out the espresso. Italian tourists show up looking for some Italian food, and troop out halfway through their meal to cadge a smoke outside where a couple of chairs are set out as an improvised waiting room.
It's that impromptu character, I think, that everybody finds so appealing about Angelini. And the sense of accomplishment once you finally get a table or a seat (one of a handful) at the counter. From then on, no worries. There will be wine, pasta, action. And all is well with the world. Who wouldn't want in on the ongoing festa?
Gino Angelini burst out of the starting gate in 2001 with this, his first restaurant, a casual Italian with food that tasted like Italy. It wasn't fake Tuscan or red sauce Italian American, but beautifully executed northern Italian cooking.
Unlike Rex or Vincenti, the two high-end Italian restaurants where Angelini had been chef, it wasn't expensive either. And the wine list featured a beautiful collection of Italian wines by the carafe -- not just your basic Chianti, but some of Italy's best wines at fair prices.
All these elements made Osteria Angelini a runaway success. It still is going strong, but a lot has changed in six years. Cooks have come and gone. Angelini opened a second restaurant, La Terza, in 2004, which means he splits his attention between the two places.
And the competition in the Italian restaurant arena heated up this year with the advent of All' Angelo and the Mozza phenom (pizzeria and osteria) from Mario Batali and Nancy Silverton, both just blocks away. Terroni, a newcomer from Toronto, is slated to open any day in the old Authentic Cafe space on Beverly Boulevard.
Angelini, however, is holding its own. On a weekend night, would-be eaters are lined up at the door as the early crowd files out, some with neatly packaged doggie bags in hand. Those who haven't reserved well ahead may end up eating unconscionably early or very late -- or signing up for a table on the sidewalk terrace, well away from the action inside.
My friends and I opted for a table outside one night recently, and enjoyed not only a splash of rain, but a fashion parade of black Borsalino hats and prayer shawls as the faithful walked to and from the nearby Jewish temples, carefully skirting the sidewalk terrace.
Our waiter hands us the menus, along with a hefty list of specials printed out that day. But when I look them over, I realize they're essentially the same ones on offer a few weeks before. Is Angelini pulling the Giorgio Baldi trick of having a kazillion specials always the same? Maybe not, but close.
Shanks in demand
That night the old Roman dish oxtail alla vaccinara was the piatto del giorno. Tonight, it's stinco di vitello -- roast veal shank, another one of my favorites here. And because it's so in demand, we ask the waiter to save an order for us; the kitchen sometimes runs out.
But on this and on some other recent visits, the food, I'm sorry to say, isn't nearly as good as it used to be. Gino Angelini is cooking mostly at La Terza now, and without the master chef's steady presence, or someone as capable at the helm, the kitchen often loses its focus.
A special pizza bianca with sausage and mushrooms doesn't have enough cheese to weld the toppings to the surface of the dough, and they fall off when you try to eat a slice. An octopus dish is mushy, either overcooked or not the same high grade served at other restaurants around town. Baby artichokes in cazuela (in casserole) have been cooked so long they're the texture of oatmeal.
The plating can be sloppy too. Angelini's wonderfully earthy dish of tripe simmered in tomato sauce is still very good, but what's that big ugly cuttlefish doing splayed in the middle of the plate? Who thought this was so dashing?
And how did the steamed mussels in tomato sauce ever pass muster? They're too funky to eat, but no one in the kitchen seems to have noticed before sending them out. Fegatini (chicken livers) with green beans is no beauty queen either, and the overdose of inexpensive aceto balsamico does this dish no favors.
Time to call in Gordon Ramsay for a makeover? Not quite yet. On other nights, the restaurant is its old, charming self. The pasta fagioli tastes just like the soup my friend Paola's mother makes, earthy and comforting. The green lasagna is splendid, layered with a subtle meat ragù. And the porchetta comes out of the wood-burning oven with a crackling crust and fragrant with wild Mediterranean herbs. The bombolotti (wide, ribbed tubes of pasta) is the bomb.
The wine flows. Laughter erupts in one corner and then another. Waiters, mostly Italian and male, are cheerful and engaging, urging on diners by saying almost every dish under consideration is "fantastico."
I'm always amazed how the cooks can turn out such an extensive menu in such a minuscule space. Everybody must enjoy all the togetherness, though -- the bumping of chairs, the waiters threading their way through the room with trays of salt-encrusted branzino or an enormous veal shank held aloft -- or they wouldn't be here.
One night a waiter sets a heavy tray on a folding stand 2 inches from my elbow, between our table and the next. "Oof! You get to watch the show," he jokes. And he proceeds to deftly filet the branzino.
Meanwhile, the barista churns out the espresso. Italian tourists show up looking for some Italian food, and troop out halfway through their meal to cadge a smoke outside where a couple of chairs are set out as an improvised waiting room.
It's that impromptu character, I think, that everybody finds so appealing about Angelini. And the sense of accomplishment once you finally get a table or a seat (one of a handful) at the counter. From then on, no worries. There will be wine, pasta, action. And all is well with the world. Who wouldn't want in on the ongoing festa?
Gino Angelini burst out of the starting gate in 2001 with this, his first restaurant, a casual Italian with food that tasted like Italy. It wasn't fake Tuscan or red sauce Italian American, but beautifully executed northern Italian cooking.
Unlike Rex or Vincenti, the two high-end Italian restaurants where Angelini had been chef, it wasn't expensive either. And the wine list featured a beautiful collection of Italian wines by the carafe -- not just your basic Chianti, but some of Italy's best wines at fair prices.
All these elements made Osteria Angelini a runaway success. It still is going strong, but a lot has changed in six years. Cooks have come and gone. Angelini opened a second restaurant, La Terza, in 2004, which means he splits his attention between the two places.
And the competition in the Italian restaurant arena heated up this year with the advent of All' Angelo and the Mozza phenom (pizzeria and osteria) from Mario Batali and Nancy Silverton, both just blocks away. Terroni, a newcomer from Toronto, is slated to open any day in the old Authentic Cafe space on Beverly Boulevard.
Angelini, however, is holding its own. On a weekend night, would-be eaters are lined up at the door as the early crowd files out, some with neatly packaged doggie bags in hand. Those who haven't reserved well ahead may end up eating unconscionably early or very late -- or signing up for a table on the sidewalk terrace, well away from the action inside.
My friends and I opted for a table outside one night recently, and enjoyed not only a splash of rain, but a fashion parade of black Borsalino hats and prayer shawls as the faithful walked to and from the nearby Jewish temples, carefully skirting the sidewalk terrace.
Our waiter hands us the menus, along with a hefty list of specials printed out that day. But when I look them over, I realize they're essentially the same ones on offer a few weeks before. Is Angelini pulling the Giorgio Baldi trick of having a kazillion specials always the same? Maybe not, but close.
Shanks in demand
That night the old Roman dish oxtail alla vaccinara was the piatto del giorno. Tonight, it's stinco di vitello -- roast veal shank, another one of my favorites here. And because it's so in demand, we ask the waiter to save an order for us; the kitchen sometimes runs out.
But on this and on some other recent visits, the food, I'm sorry to say, isn't nearly as good as it used to be. Gino Angelini is cooking mostly at La Terza now, and without the master chef's steady presence, or someone as capable at the helm, the kitchen often loses its focus.
A special pizza bianca with sausage and mushrooms doesn't have enough cheese to weld the toppings to the surface of the dough, and they fall off when you try to eat a slice. An octopus dish is mushy, either overcooked or not the same high grade served at other restaurants around town. Baby artichokes in cazuela (in casserole) have been cooked so long they're the texture of oatmeal.
The plating can be sloppy too. Angelini's wonderfully earthy dish of tripe simmered in tomato sauce is still very good, but what's that big ugly cuttlefish doing splayed in the middle of the plate? Who thought this was so dashing?
And how did the steamed mussels in tomato sauce ever pass muster? They're too funky to eat, but no one in the kitchen seems to have noticed before sending them out. Fegatini (chicken livers) with green beans is no beauty queen either, and the overdose of inexpensive aceto balsamico does this dish no favors.
Time to call in Gordon Ramsay for a makeover? Not quite yet. On other nights, the restaurant is its old, charming self. The pasta fagioli tastes just like the soup my friend Paola's mother makes, earthy and comforting. The green lasagna is splendid, layered with a subtle meat ragù. And the porchetta comes out of the wood-burning oven with a crackling crust and fragrant with wild Mediterranean herbs. The bombolotti (wide, ribbed tubes of pasta) is the bomb.
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