When it comes to restaurants however, I generally enjoy being wooed. A guy who pulls out my chair for me gets a scowl, but a waiter who does the same? He gets a smile and a big tip. Given my desire to be fussed over when I go out to dine, I shouldn't like Terroni. In fact, nothing about the reservationless eatery on Beverly Blvd. should be particularly pleasing to my attention-whoring dining self. Especially considering they took the place of my beloved Authentic Cafe.
Yet despite treating me like I am just an average Jody with mousy brown hair and clogged pores, there's just something about Terroni that makes me still sort of like him -- just like I still sort of like my male friend who doesn't contact me for weeks on end and then suddenly pops back into my life like an evil human incarnation of the Jack-in-the-Box. But that's an entirely other post (or autobiographical companion piece to He's Just Not Into You).
As far as Terroni's mistreatment of my emotions, stomach and arteries, I have prepared a long list of their abuses in order to convince myself that I really don't need the casually hip Italian eatery as a companion in my LA foodie life.
1. The no reservations policy makes for pre-dining anxiety and probable hunger pains during the practically assured waiting period.
2. Amendments to the dishes are not welcomed, rendering me completely incapable of performing my usual Sally-esque ordering behavior.
3. Wine is served in stemless glasses. What's the point of ordering wine when I can't look sophisticated and cultured by holding the glass by the slender stem?
4. Pizza is deposited on the table uncut. I do not like to cut my own slices of pizza. (Plus it slows down the rate at which I am able to cram said pizza into my pizza pie hole)
5. Menu items are generally of the greasy, cheesy, meaty variety. My Bar Method instructors would be so ashamed. My stomach and intestines are not the biggest fans either.
6. Servers do not offer a Parmesan blanket for pasta dishes. If I want extra cheesage on my pasta, I have to ask. In the words of Stephanie Tanner, "How rude!"
7. Dessert options are lackluster. 'Nuff said.
C't Mang Pizza
In reviewing my list of reasons to hate Terroni, part of me feels inclined to never walk through those chic glass doors again. Why would I want to put myself through the torture of dining there and risking life, limb and sparse pizza toppings trying to cut a slice of their glorious C't Mang pie with speck, walnuts, Gorgonzola, pear, and honey? And do I really need to give my arteries a sucker punch with a plate of the maccheroncini Geppetto pasta, an anti-heart healthy dish with minimal dandelion greens, and chunks of spicy sausage and melted Fontina cheese? My heart shudders with pain at the memories.
But then I remember the way the pizza serenaded my tongue with its unique flavor combinations. And how decadently delicious the first few bites of the pasta tasted when the Fontina cheese was still ooey and gooey, and coated the chunks of sausage like a mother coats her freakishly pale-skinned spawn in sunscreen. While the food wasn't revolutionary, it was comforting, and like my occasional male friend who pays me no attention, a safe and reliable choice for an enjoyable evening out. I know I'll be going back for more abuse in the near future. But only because I'm a masochist, and I really really liked that pizza.