Campanile was like my first kiss.
My first hand job.
My first lay.
My first hit.
My first trip.
My first step into manhood.
I was raised on pickled mung bean sprouts, kimchi, beef jerky, and tamales. Then this muthafucker started cooking in this old ass building on La Brea and a young twenty something happened to walk in and everything changed after that.
I grew up around food but Campanile helped me move from immigrant to
Fancy meals before this for me were Lawry’s or Benihana.
(I wrote a whole chapter on what this restaurant did to me in the book.)
After this it was green beans and ratatouille.
I was lured by the hearth crusty breads but I stayed because of the cuisine.
Mark is a friend now. That’s like admiring John Coltrane your whole life then becoming friends with him.
I still get all weird with the fourth wall.
I ate there for my last time this past week and it was as delicious as ever.
And where was Mark?
In the kitchen making lamb meatballs of course!
A chef’s chef.
A cook’s guide.
A culinary walking encyclopedia.
Arcadia raised before Din Tai Fung.
A genius in our field.
Everything I do will always go back to Campanile.
I never worked there but I feel like I did.
I know the eggs Benedict there like a lady knows her body.
I can tell you exactly what’s on the menu any day of the week.
From Harvey’s Guss 28 day dry aged steaks to trenne pasta to when grilled cheese night is to what veg is in the minestrone.
From minestrone to milestone.
Put your mutherfucking lighters in the sky.
See you on the flip,
Lost an Angel
CA all day.