A hot summer day, a day in LA. It's too hot for a hike, but it's never too hot for a steaming plate of housemade pasta with awesome sauce. We try two. And both are awesome-sauce.
There's nothing like fluffy pillows of Gnocchi swimming in pesto cream. The gnocchi are dense but airy, so light they almost melt.
"Is it black truffle or truffle oil?" I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Honey, please! We use real truffle!" she exclaims. Don't insult me, her friendly, furrowed eyebrows say. The truffles are real. They blanket the Tagliatelle with a warm savor-explosion that continues long after the flawless al dente pasta is gone.
Sfogliatelli for dessert because you can never have enough carbs. It's called a lobster tail because it's the lobster of pastries. Paper-thin, half-soft-half-chewy, crisp pastry layers blanket soft ricotta. The sharp sweetness of candied orange peel accents the delicate delight.
I am so in love with this hole in the wall; even Barrique doesn't come close. There is something so pure and untouched here, a family-run restaurant by a master-chef mom, her daughters, and a token son. You can see them making pasta as you feel the entire kitchen resonating with happiness and love. Just looking at these people will make you smile, and it's impossible not to grin from from ear to ear after you have their pasta.
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