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Osteria Mozza PDF Print E-mail
Written by Veronica   

She thrusts her head to my left – her eyes pleading with me to turn my attention in that direction.

 What?” I mouth to my friend as I chomp down on a particularly tender chunk of grilled octopus.  I wipe my mouth carefully with my napkin and take a sip of my glass of Barbara. 

God I love this restaurant.

She sets her fork down and leans in close to whisper, “I think he’s someone.”

I glance over to take a look at the couple sharing part of our space against the wall, and stop short when I see her approaching their table.  Her mass of red curly hair is carelessly tied up into a knot on her head, and my heart flutters with excitement as she pauses – merely a foot away from our table – to greet them. 

It’s Nancy Silverton – co-owner of the restaurant, Osteria Mozza, and the brilliant mind behind La Brea Bakery’s famous bread.

ImageMy mouth hangs slightly ajar, and I quickly scoop a bite of burrata-topped braised asparagus into it to keep from gawking. 

“Who do you think they are?”  My friend whispers.  She’s in town from Chicago and dying to score a decent celebrity sighting before heading back to negative temperatures and frumpy sweaters.

I meet her eyes in consternation.  “Them?”  I sputter.  “It’s Nancy Silverton!  She created the dough at Pizzeria Mozza – with her hands!  And it took her months to perfect it, but she did it and it’s the most amazing dough ever!  And that burricotti!”  I enthuse, gesturing at my friend’s antipasti plate.  “She is the mozzarella bar.  That’s all her.”

She nods, finally starting to understand my star-gazed response to the lady in the apron.  “So she’s like a celebri-chef?”

I grin and raise my glass into the air. “Exactly!  She’s like Tom Collichio, but without the TV show and bald head.”

We finish our first courses, and my friend excuses herself from the table to use the restroom.  I entertain myself by consuming my second slice of bread of the evening, and catch a part of the unidentified famous couple’s conversation.

“I just hope we win something.”  He says to his wife. 

My mind whirls as I contemplate the new information.  Win something.  Win something.  What would he be winning?

It hits me, and I nearly choke on a particularly nutty hunk of my multigrain stomach-filler – it’s the Golden Globes tomorrow night! 

ImageBy the time my friend returns to the table, I’m dying to get home to begin a Google search of the nominees, but am soon distracted by our plates of orecchiette with sausage & Swiss chard.  Pasta is good.  Pasta is very good.  I inhale the plate – not pausing to consider that I have already eaten two first courses and two slices of bread prior to the dish. 

The pungent red wine has taken all my friend’s and my good sense hostage, and when the celebrity couple receives their main courses, we can’t help but gawk at the contents of their plates.  He is about to dig into a pasta dish that I can’t remember seeing on the menu, and as I study it in confusion, he looks up and catches my curious eye.

“We’re admiring your food.”  My friend explains, and I nod vigorously. 

He smiles.  “Buccatini Alla Amatriciana.” 

He says something about it being best in Italy, but I’m too excited to commit his exact words to memory.  I moronically grin back, and when my friend and my desserts arrive a few moments later, it is his turn to give my Apple Borsellino the once-over. 

Image“It’s some sort of apple thing.”  I say, immediately kicking myself for not remembering the fancy name that appeared in the menu.  My verbal fumbling doesn’t seem to phase him.  He and his wife – whoever they are – are absurdly down to earth and gracious.  So down to earth, in fact, that when my friend and get up to leave, they send us on our way with a sincere “Good bye.”

 As we walk to my car (parked down the street to avoid the $8 valet charge), it strikes me just how powerful Nancy Silverton’s food is.  She is a celebri-chef for good reason.  There aren’t many restaurants in Los Angeles where a plate of really good pasta can get two parties of strangers talking.  Especially when one of those parties is Jeffrey Katzenberg, CEO of Dreamworks Animation, and his lovely wife, Marilyn.

 

 

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Anonymous     |213.149.8.xxx |2009-07-17 00:28:06
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About Veronica

When nine-year-old Veronica’s 5th grade teacher asked her where she saw herself in twenty years, Veronica proudly declared her desire to be a journalist working for the San Francisco Chronicle.  Flash-forward fifteen years.  Veronica didn’t major in journalism, even though she went to Northwestern University; only moved 40 miles north of her hometown of Newport Beach, California, as opposed to 400 miles to San Francisco; and spends more time reading scripts than reading the newspaper.  Course that doesn’t keep her from dreaming that she will one day be able to call herself a “writer.”  When Veronica is not fantasizing about her future life, she enjoys eating out at fancy schmancy restaurants that she can’t afford, reviewing them on www.yelp.com, exercising like a masochist on speed, and spending time with her friends, family, and laptop, Lucy.

 

Veronica can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

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