I think there might be a reason most of the neutral or positive reviews of Olio Pizzeria focus mainly on breakfast. Their overhyped pizza crust tastes like english muffins. And, unfortunately, it's not quite Thomas'.
It's a tiny restaurant – in a neighborhood pizza parlor way, not a candlelight date kind of way. Not that there's anything wrong with pizza parlors. I am borderline obsessed with Vito's and sitting at a sidewalk table at Village Pizzeria on Larchmont always puts me in a great mood. But Vito's and Village won't empty your wallet and their locations don't force you into shelling out for valet (a completely ridiculous thing to do if you're going out for a slice). At Olio, dinner for two cost almost as much as dinner for two at Sushi Ike.
Having earlier experienced both the exquisite pleasure and excruciating
pain that comes from washing down four or five pounds of Chicken Liver
pate with fifteen dollar glasses of 2001 Chateauneuf du Pape, I was
careful to prepare my sensitive digestive tract by fasting for
practically an entire half-day on Fiji Natural Artisan water, plus a
supplemental half-inch rind of smoked salami that I discovered under a
plastic tankard of Barefoot Contessa Moussaka that I accidentally made
five weeks ago in a bizarre attack of culinary industry. As a note, I
have a firm policy of never throwing away any left-over that originally
took more than sixty minutes to prepare, unless it starts to stink
worse than my daughter’s feet did after two weeks at Catalina Camp,
where filth is a fashion statement.
Having almost given up on the Italian cucina here in Los Angeles, I was very pleased to enjoy the offerings of this ristorante. It was a whim that brought me there and also an offer from Blackboard Eats. After all Pane e Vino has been around for the past 20 years, no small accomplishment in a metropolis of shifting loyalties and chefs’ inabilities to produce and present authentic cuisine. Not their fault really, for if a restaurant wants to stay in business in this city, then they have to cater to many of their patrons uneducated knowledge of what real Italian food is all about and offer Americanized versions.
During the Great Depression, Hollywood did its part by providing
people with the ultimate escape. It didn’t try to provide its audience
with everyday situations that just reinforced their misery. Sullivan’s
Travels made that point brilliantly. Instead, Hollywood gave them
fantasy and opulence. The glamour of the Busby Berkley movies, the
optimism of Shirley Temple; all these movies were a respite from the
bleakness that awaited them when the lights came up.
Sometimes you don’t know a place is missing from a neighborhood until it opens. That’s how I feel about the new Sweet Lady Jane that opened a few months ago in Santa Monica up towards the east-end of the shop on Montana Avenue. I just hadn’t realized before – there really wasn’t anywhere to buy a perfect cherry pie (or a chocolate cake) or a delicious croissant or stop in for lunch and feel like just at the table next to you someone’s having an interesting conversation while you have one yourself accompanied by a perfect curried chicken salad sandwich (not an easy thing by the way) or home-made soup or if you need something cozy, a perfect grilled cheese, and the promise of a perfect cappucino (even though you don’t drink coffee at lunch).
And then, of course, any of their perfect sweets, a heavenly slice of cake, a hefty slice of pie. And you won’t be able to help yourself – you’ll bring something home for dessert that night, too – and if you’re anything like us, place an order for one or two pies for Sunday night (and maybe a chocolate cake) because you’ve just been inspired by Sweet Lady Jane to invite people over for Sunday dinner.