LAReview
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When Gjelina first opened, George W. Bush was finishing out his second term and kale salad was creeping its way across the country. It was 2008, a time when pizza in LA was still bad, Abbot Kinney still had character, and we were in the throes of a recession responsible for making ombre a trend. And Gjelina in Venice was mobbed morning-to-night.
Rightfully so. Gjelina took the standard tuscan kale salad and put it on the grill, tossed it in yogurty dressing, and added toasted hazelnuts. They fermented their pizza dough for three days and scorched it to bubbly perfection in a woodfire oven. Finally, finally! LA could brag about a pizza other than Mozza’s. Gjelina ushered in vegetable-forward California cuisine without the snobbish French undertones or snoozy clientele who froth at the sight of a rare cab sauv. It was all cutting edge and decidedly very “LA.”
Since Gjelina opened, the locally famous and mysterious chef behind it opened GTA, Gjusta, and a pricey, now-closed ramen spot that we don’t miss. Then he disappeared. Kale isn’t even on Gjelina’s menu anymore, and you can now find good pizza in just about every neighborhood of the city. On a weeknight, you could probably walk up to the host stand and have your choice right away between the brooding dining room that could be mistaken for the hull of a ship, or the secluded patio. As other LA restaurants find the spotlight, Gjelina has become more accessible and also an absolute cliche of itself.
And yet, once you're seated, it’s as if nothing has changed. A meal at Gjelina is still genuinely spectacular, so long as you shoo away the stereotypes that come with it. The Burning Man people and their unnecessarily wide-brimmed hats are still very much here, piecing together whole meals out of three vegetable sides. And, well, we can’t blame them. Now that good LA pizza is no longer something to hyperventilate about, the vegetables stand out even more.
The greener things on the menu maneuver acidity and bitterness in a way that only Gjelina can pull off. In a simple escarole salad, parmesan shavings, smoked almonds, and sunchokes cut through the tartness of preserved lemon vinaigrette that, on its own, would make you pucker. Get a grilled vegetable—like radicchio with charred leaves that are juicy and almost unbearably bitter, offset by a just-sweet-enough apple cider vinegar—and then fill out your order from there. Even in the starchier dishes, like the saffron spaghetti with briny bottarga and plenty of tomato, chili, and breadcrumbs, every ingredient practically yodels.
The best way to experience Gjelina is to arrive not long before the sun sets. Inside or out, the space transforms from bright and easy to dark and sexy, and you won’t even notice it’s officially nighttime until the candlelight makes your Japanese sweet potatoes look like biblical iconography. And you know what? They just might be.