As we’ve said before, Bocca Lupo is not necessarily your typical neighborhood standby, but it’s nonetheless a dark horse candidate in the nightly where-do-you-want-to-eat competition. You never really consider it, but every time you go it’s perfectly fine; the service is fairly prompt and friendly, the prices are reasonable, the menu is considerable (although to be fair, the dishes are almost all pretty small, with the exception of the nightly pasta and pizza specials), and of course the food is very good, if not excellent.
So it was on two such occasions — where no other restaurants made sense, yet we couldn’t quite count out Bocca Lupo — that Eats Meats West had the opportunity to dine in the mouth of the wolf once again.
Night #1: Although the night’s pasta special (tagliatelle in cream sauce with summer peas and pancetta) sounded filling enough, we instead opted for a few small dishes and two pressed sandwiches. J got the chicken, tomato, Asiago, and arugula pesto; while I had the classic mozzarella, tomato, and pesto press. I also opted for the night’s soup special, a cauliflower soup, which to my surprise arrived cold. Hrm, OK? We shared two bruschetta: Tuscan chicken liver pate and creamy mushroom & leak. J finished it all out with veal meatballs. Oh, and there was a rosemary lemonade vodka thrown in there, which sounds mildly revolting but was in fact very refreshing. The rosemary wasn’t at all overpowering, and dare I say a welcome addition?
Night #2: This time, J went for the veal meatballs once again as well as the night’s pizza, if you can call it that. It’s more of a flatbread with melted cheese, but oh well. This one had potatoes and maybe too many pepper flakes. I stuck with the same basic panini as last time and ordered two bruschettas: bresaola/pine nuts/asparagus pesto/parmesan and chickpeas/sardines/tomato. Both were logistically difficult to eat without a knife and fork. Scattered throughout our otherwise lovely meal were numerous
demon spawn children lacking any visible parenting. One child, who I’ll admit was on the gentler side of demented, was apparently with his babysitter when I noticed he had an iPhone. He could not have been 12. An iPhone. Just…why, world, why?!