The magic of eating out, as told by a foodie who desperately missed restaurants
Last week, my boyfriend and I went to dinner to celebrate our anniversary. It was our first non-takeout excursion in months. I’d made the reservation the day we were fully vaccinated, which also happened to be a full month in advance, so there were thirty days worth of anticipation and excitement leading up to the big night.
We were going to a restaurant called Gjelina in Venice. It’s one of my favorite restaurants in LA. I’ve been going with my parents since before the start of my freshman year of college, and always take visiting friends. It’s consistently a hit because there’s something for everyone. They take classic and simple ingredients and make them interesting and new. Veggies, charcuterie, pasta, pizzas, meats — anything you could be craving, breakfast lunch, or dinner, you could probably get at Gjelina, and it’d be done in a way you’ve never seen before.
While the dinner itself was fantastic (see above photos for reference), it wasn’t just the amazing food that struck a chord with me. It was the entire experience. I had forgotten how much goes into sitting in a restaurant and having a meal. How many people put so much effort into the end result of you eating your food, and how they do that on a loop the whole night until close. I’d forgotten that going to restaurants, whether it be new ones for the first time or classics I know will hit the spot, is my favorite “social” activity. You’d have to drag me by my hair to get me to a crowded bar on a weekend, but I’m game for a nice dinner out any day of the week.
Growing up, going out to eat was an at-least-once-weekly activity I did with my parents. While being a great excuse for us to bond, it also gave me an appreciation for restaurants and their staff at a very early age.
This appreciation was put in the works years before I was born.
My dad often takes business dinners for work. A big part of his job has always been traveling all over the world to meet with customers or go to events. While my dad travels a lot, it’s just as common for customers to come out to New York to see him. Thus, it was necessary for him to have a go-to restaurant that he knew would never disappoint and would wow his colleagues.
This is where Ennio and Michael’s came in. Opened in 1988 by Ennio Sammarone and Michael Savarese, this unassuming restaurant in the heart of Greenwich Village in New York City served old-school Italian meals that were consistently spectacular every time you went. From antipasto to dolce, the dishes were knockouts and always had customers leaving satisfied and smiling.
A friend of my dad's took him on his first-ever trip to the restaurant. After meeting the Ennio and Michael themselves through this friend, my dad started making his own independent trips to the restaurant. It quickly became his go-to place to bring just about anyone, business-related or not. He and my mom went on countless dates there before they got married, and it was always the first stop for visiting friends and family from out of town. It got to the point where my parents would drive into the city more than once a week to get their Southern-Italian fix.
My dad formed a close relationship with both Ennio and Michael, consistently greeted with hugs and kisses and slaps on the back and “Ciao Johnny, come stai?”s every time he walked through the door. The waiters knew never to show my dad a menu — Ennio would come straight to the table and tell him and his guests what they’d be served that night, in true Italian agriturismo style.
I was six months old when I went to Ennio and Michael’s for the first time. While I don’t remember that specific trip, some of my first memories of my entire existence include sitting at the restaurant, getting served plain pasta with butter before my parents even got their appetizers, then walking around the kitchen and out in Greenwich with Ennio, who graciously gave my parents the chance to enjoy their meal sans toddler.
I remember sprinting from the parking garage to the front door once my toddler self realized where my parents and I had just driven to. I remember walking through the door, feeling the warmth of the dining room hit my face, the smell of fresh basil and rosemary wrapping itself around me, and swiftly being swept into hugs and kisses from the entire staff. I remember sitting comfortably in the dim-lit dining room, watching the hustling and bustling of the waiters and busboys in awe as they brought out dishes that always made my mouth water.
Ennio and Michael’s was the first restaurant that introduced me to the concept of being a “regular,” and how special that kind of relationship is. Although it closed when I was eleven due to rent increases (thanks NYU), that restaurant and everyone in it essentially watched me grow up. They saw me go from infant in a stroller to rambunctious toddler to polite and mature tween celebrating her birthday for the third year in a row, wincing with embarrassment whenever her dinner guests asked for a menu. They knew me before I was even born, following my mom’s pregnancy intently, giving my dad to-go bags to take to her when she couldn’t make the trips to the city herself.
The longevity and intimacy of this relationship made the restaurant a second home. It’s understandable why so many of the customers that were at their last-ever dinner service in 2010 were people that had been coming consistently since its opening. The sense of comfort and community anyone felt when they walked in the door was enough to make them want to come back a second time. The food was remarkable, and that was definitely a big part of it, but there was something about the dining room itself that was energized and infectious. The combination of the food, the space, and the staff made you feel so valued every time you walked through the door. Ennio and Michael’s did what a restaurant is meant to do.
I’m ridiculously grateful that I got the opportunity to spend as much time in a place like Ennio and Michael’s as I did. Its closing had a heavy impact on me. In many ways, it was my first experience with feelings of grief and loss. While the chicken parm had become my go-to entree by the time of its close, I stopped eating it for years because no one else’s tasted as good. There was always something missing in the sauce that only the chefs at Ennio and Michael’s could create. To this day I can still taste it.
While I sadly can’t walk through the doors of Ennio and Michael’s anymore, my experience there gave me an immense appreciation for the orchestration necessary to create a comforting and warm dining experience for people. No matter the cuisine or the location, I am always in awe of the ins and outs of restaurants, and the communities they develop both in the staff and with their customers.
My love for the restaurant experience has led me to search for my own new favorites everywhere I go. I’ve found my classic, comforting Italian go-tos on both coasts (Cafe Il Villaggio on Long Island, Sprazzo in Los Angeles), and unique and intricate spots that are always evolving and surprising me. Although I can’t say for certain that I’ll become a regular to the same degree that I was at Ennio and Michael’s at Gjelina or Sprazzo or any of the other places I consistently visit, I still feel a similar sense of community, familiarity, and comfort when walking through the doors.
I don’t just love eating at restaurants I’ve already been to, either. My infatuation with restaurants extends to the experience of trying new places, as well. Getting to see firsthand the unique ways in which staffs work together, and the different creative processes that go into menu development and the curation of the entire dining experience is always exciting and surprising. I constantly scour Yelp and Infatuation for inspiration for my next dinner reservation, drooling over photos of the popular dishes and dining room or patio set-ups. Every restaurant is distinct in its own ways, and getting the opportunity to discover that gives you the ability to share something very special with the staff, your dinner guests, and fellow customers. And, the fact of the matter is, the only way you’ll become a regular anywhere is to go for the first time.
