At the restaurant, filled with what I assumed were local residents, we were able to squeeze in on a Saturday night (we called for a reservation, but the guy never took our name, so I’m not sure how that system works). The place is cozy with lots of hammered copper accents and exposed brick. The glasses of house red wine are huge. The waiters are brusque and busy. Dan says it feels like one of those old-style Italian places in the West Village (the kind we never went to).
Here, we came for the pizza, which Dan had heard was pretty good. And so we started with an appetizer garlic pizza, and then I followed it up with an eggplant pizza:
Both had a very thin and crispy crust and were pretty good, though not the best I’ve had (my favorite place in London remains Furnace). My pizza got a bit soggy as I ate it, but the flavors were satisfying and the eggplant was nicely roasted and sprinkled with a good dose of oregano, and I’d certainly be happy to eat pizza there again. Dan had some veal Milanese that was huge and excellent—nicely seasoned and tender. We bypassed dessert in favor of homemade biscotti back at our flat. (I’ve been using this biscotti recipe for years, and it’s the best I’ve ever tried; plus, you can make all kinds of substitutions for the fruit and nuts. This time, there were macadamia nuts hauled back from Hawaii and dried cranberries.)
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