I've been here twice, most recently yesterday. Each time it feels as though I've entered the Land that Time Forgot -- in a very,very good way.
The first thing to say is that I like the space. The colors are warm: a brick red wall, wood-beamed ceilings, creamy gauzy cafe curtains at the windows. Crisp white paper covers the wooden tables.The walls are decorated with a mix of paintings, vintage posters and photos (from a panorama of the Bay of Naples to very stylized Marilyn Monroe portraits). The whole thing works.
The set-up is a little unusual, but I like unusual. The cafe is on one side and an upscale shoe repair (owned by the same people) on the other side.
In the center is a charming courtyard. You can sit at tables covered by red-checked tablecloths in the courtyard or around the exterior perimeter of the cafe, in case you'd like to watch the world go by. I didn't try the shoe repair, as I'm a long time fan of Arturo's Shoe Fixx,in Beverly Hills. I did try the cafe, however, and it's my kind of place.
You feel as though you've entered someone's home, because the people are so friendly. The waitress is helpful and friendly. So is the busboy. Antonio (I think he's the manager) welcomes all the guests always. He's Italian and looks it. How is it that an Italian can simply wear a white shirt and jeans and look really put together somehow? That's a question to be mulled at a later date. But to get back to the topic: he's like the host at the best kind of cocktail party, who mingles and makes sure that the guests are having a good time. He asks me how my food is. He wishes the people at the neighboring table "Buon appetito." The whole staff works to create a warm atmosphere.
Patrons are a diverse group, both in terms of age and race. Some seem to be popping in from the neighborhood, while others seem to be popping in from work. There are quite a few regulars, but also first timers, like the couple leaving when I was still eating, who gushed their thanks.
There really is a Pasquale, who seems to be, unsurprisingly, affable and courteous.
People do work on their laptops here. Asking a customer who was typing away about wi-fi led to an introduction, handshakes and a bit of a chat. I've never been so warmly received in a cafe anywhere. Obviously you can just come here to do your thing, but isn't it nice to know that if you look up, someone might smile at you?
The espresso is good. I love the cups, which are sleek and modern. The prosciutto and mushroom thin crust pizza is terrific. As a Chicagoan, I'm an expert on pizza, even thin crust pizza. The "mista" salad is fresh and wonderfully presented -- great lettuce, small diced cubes of cucumber, slices of radish and tomatoes. Water, although not great tasting, is plentiful.
Customer service is excellent here. And you probably know by this time that I am very big on service. Take the following situation, for instance: a fly enters the room just as my pizza arrives at the table. Flies know that I dislike them and always head for me first -- this has been the story of my life. Antonio immediately notices as I start to shoo the fly away. I'm doing this, by the way, with one hand, while with the other I'm holding the book that I'm reading. In a trice, he has placed a fresh white cloth napkin over the tray. Fly's dastardly plot foiled. Problem solved.
Each time I've been here I've seen someone working on a laptop. Sadly, they don't have wi-fi. However, the atmosphere is so great, as is the food, that I'm willing to overlook it. The music is fine.
This is an excellent place to go for offline work. It's also a good place to meet for lunch, as it's in the LACMA area. And of course, it's a great place to get your batteries recharged and to feel connected with the world. I can't explain this, but all I know is that every time I've been here, when I leave it's as though fairy dust has been sprinkled on my shoulders. The rest of the day, wherever I go in LA, people are friendly and engaging. This list includes, but is not limited to the Office Depot cashier and the guy selling fruit and flowers on Fairfax, who wished me a good day.
And there is ample free parking on the side streets.
Speaking of the side streets, after leaving the cafe I sat in my parked car, underneath a shady tree, checking my BlackBerry. It reminded me a lot of my neighborhood in Chicago -- mostly all I could hear were the birds and the wind through the trees. I felt completely isolated from the Real World, and kind of felt like I wanted to stay there forever.
Suddenly a high-pitched whine intrudes into the bucolic soundscape. A young urban adventurer in an electric wheelchair barrels down the ramp connecting his front door to the sidewalk. He corners the sidewalk, heads for the driveway, turns again sharply and is on his way in the street. I didn't know that electric wheelchairs could go that fast.
I'm on the phone when he whizzes back from his expedition, a cigarette in his mouth, a wave for the postman and the neighbor who are chatting. Back up the ramp he goes, an extreme electric wheelchair athlete.
Then, fairy dust intact, I start the car and continue my own urban adventure.
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