In LA, new neighbors are a dicey prospect.
You might get lucky and bag Kristen Bell and a sloth... or you might get a falsetto who’s constantly rehearsing. For a musical horror film. At 5am.
In an ideal world, you get somebody who wants to make you pizza all the time.
Meet Barbarella Bar’s pizza-obsessed new neighbor, Lago D’Argento, opening Thursday in Silver Lake. (If you ever wondered how to say “Silver Lake” in Italian, now you know.)
It’s from the same owner as Barbarella Bar, who basically carved out a big chunk of the bar to build a candlelit, chalkboard-happy new restaurant that would drastically up the property’s pizza quotient. Can’t say you object.
So flash forward to Friday night. Some of you are hitting the clubs in Hollywood. Some of you are heading to a lofty-arty-horn-rimmed-glasses-y thing in Downtown. There’s a rogue faction forming a Palm Springs caravan. Tell everybody to converge here first, at the big, circular communal table dominating the space. Start with a round of meatballs for the table. They do that here.
As for the pizza, it’s handled by a chef who came over from the Churchill—think Neapolitan-style pies topped with housemade prosciutto, fig jam and goat cheese. Or duck sausage, mushrooms and gouda. They also do curbside pickups.
Yes, we’re still talking about pizza.
You might get lucky and bag Kristen Bell and a sloth... or you might get a falsetto who’s constantly rehearsing. For a musical horror film. At 5am.
In an ideal world, you get somebody who wants to make you pizza all the time.
Meet Barbarella Bar’s pizza-obsessed new neighbor, Lago D’Argento, opening Thursday in Silver Lake. (If you ever wondered how to say “Silver Lake” in Italian, now you know.)
It’s from the same owner as Barbarella Bar, who basically carved out a big chunk of the bar to build a candlelit, chalkboard-happy new restaurant that would drastically up the property’s pizza quotient. Can’t say you object.
So flash forward to Friday night. Some of you are hitting the clubs in Hollywood. Some of you are heading to a lofty-arty-horn-rimmed-glasses-y thing in Downtown. There’s a rogue faction forming a Palm Springs caravan. Tell everybody to converge here first, at the big, circular communal table dominating the space. Start with a round of meatballs for the table. They do that here.
As for the pizza, it’s handled by a chef who came over from the Churchill—think Neapolitan-style pies topped with housemade prosciutto, fig jam and goat cheese. Or duck sausage, mushrooms and gouda. They also do curbside pickups.
Yes, we’re still talking about pizza.
