Learning to Let Go


Her name was Lolo, she was a showgirl

It’s hard to let go of the things you love, be they unsuitable mates or (more frequently in my case) favorite dishes. I can think of several notable examples from the last few years. There was one unexceptional restaurant in Cambridge, Massachusetts, that catered to the young families with (screaming) children in the neighborhood. Most of the food was completely pedestrian (did I mention they catered to screaming children and their keepers?) but they did make an exceptional chocolate bread pudding. Truly great stuff. It once was a stalwart, but the last time I was in, it was no longer on the menu. Turns out the old baker left, and with her, the recipe. Boo.

Here in San Francisco, I’m mourning the loss of a favorite: the ultra-crispy white pizza with prosciutto and arugula at Vogalonga. The cracker-like crust was lightly touched with salty cheese and topped with gossamer slices of prosciutto and handfuls of lightly dressed fresh arugula—like a salad on top of a pizza. My last visit, I knew trouble was brewing—new owners, poised to rename and concept the place, were executing the old menu, but my favorite pizza had (inexplicably) been taken off the menu. They graciously offered to make it for me, but through some miscommunication it ended up with red sauce and cooked prosciutto.

Well, the jig is up, now. Vogalonga has received it’s makeover and just reopened as Loló—I haven’t been, yet, but hear it’s a kind of Latin-Turkish-Local mix—which sounds bizarre, I’ll admit, but I’ll give it a shot and report back. If you’ve been, leave us a comment and tell us what’s worth trying. I’ll mourn the loss of the pizza for a while yet (grieving takes time, you know) but remain hopeful that Loló has something up its sleeve to soften the blow.
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