Charlie and I were looking for an Italian restaurant as the setting for this month’s gastronomic adventure, and we came upon UOVO, with its five locations across the city and its intriguing business model. According to the restaurant’s website, every strand of their pasta is handmade in Bologna, Italy (which the website claims is “the epicenter of fresh pasta”) and overnighted daily to Los Angeles. “It’s just a marketing gimmick,” we said. “It’s gimmicky,” we agreed. “Let’s make a reservation.”
To our annoyance, however, the website also stated, “We DO NOT take reservations.” Still, we were intrigued enough by the promise of Italian pasta that’s actually made in Italy that we decided to risk having to wait for a table. Quite serendipitously, there’s a UOVO on Wilshire, virtually right next to the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures that Charlie and I had planned to visit this summer (it’s incomprehensible how we’ve managed to live in LA all these years without having ever been), so we decided to meet at the restaurant for lunch, then spend the rest of our afternoon at the museum. Anticipating a wait, I arrived earlier than our appointed 12 pm, but to my surprise, I walked into a restaurant that was nearly empty at what is usually a busy hour for restaurants. There was one couple who had the entire place to themselves before I walked in and disturbed their hegemony. All the counter seats (which I was aiming to nab, so I wouldn’t have to sit down during my meal—refer to previous posts for context) that surround the large open kitchen were available. Heeding the sign stating that patrons will be seated only when everyone in the party is present, I resigned myself to waiting near the entrance until Charlie arrived, but someone (the manager, I assumed) noticed the absurdity of making a guest wait in an empty restaurant and quickly offered me a seat of my choice. When I had claimed a secluded corner of the bar (well, all the corners were secluded at the time), I ordered a drink and studied the menu while I waited for my tardy friend. I was gratified to see a small glossary section on the menu, which eliminated the need to Google at least the names of the various types of pastas they offer. As I waited, the manager, who introduced himself as Zach, told me more about what sets UOVO apart from other Italian restaurants than what I had read on their website. Apparently, Italian eggs—an indispensable ingredient in making pasta—are superior to American eggs, but it’s illegal to import them into the U.S. So, since they couldn’t import the raw ingredients, they import instead the freshly prepared product.
I considered what I would do if Charlie stood me up. While generally an independent person who has no problem going to the movies or the mall alone, dining out solo is a feat that I’ve yet to accomplish equably. When I travel, for instance, I love to explore unfamiliar cities by myself, but anxiety strikes when dinner time draws nigh and I’m faced with the prospect of sitting alone in a restaurant avoiding eye contact with the other diners for the duration of an entire meal. Mostly, I just chicken out and buy something from a grocery store I can eat in my hotel room. There’s actually a name for my fear of eating alone in restaurants: solomangarephobia. Surprisingly, though, sitting at the wooden counter in UOVO, I felt comfortable enough that I decided if Charlie didn’t show up, I’d just eat lunch there on my own. In fact, the easy ambiance, the friendly staff, and the ability to watch the food preparation while I ate (rather than making eye contact with other diners or keeping my eyes glued to my phone, both awkward options, in my opinion) put me so much at my ease that I can envision myself returning to grab a quick lunch even if I hadn’t made plans to meet a friend. Perhaps the open kitchen and surplus counter seating around it were intended to ease the apprehension of people like me who dread eating alone in public? I wonder how common this fear is. At any rate, the layout of UOVO did much to calm my phobia.
