I have a firm memory of the first Farfalla, which opened in what was then the not trendy enclave of Los Feliz back in the 1980s. It was just a storefront, but there was a constant wait to get in because Farfalla served the sort of down-home red sauce Italian cooking we were desperate for in Los Angeles.
We had no Little Italy to serve as a culinary touchstone and so, the original Farfalla was a revelation. It paved the path that turned L.A. into a suburb of Florence and Rome.
These days, there are so many choices. And Farfalla´s name has spread, including into a space in the Encino Marketplace that´s a world apart from that storefront on Hillhurst Avenue. But the spirit is still there.
In Encino, Farfalla Trattoria has a sizable outside patio, which is fine if the weather is tolerable, but not as appealing when the temps begin to sizzle. There´s a happy hour in the bar, where a good chunk of the menu is offered at a discount. Happy hour is 4-7 p.m. weekdays and 4 p.m. until closing Saturday. It´s a good time to drop by for a glass of pinot grigio, along with a selection of thin-crust pizzas, shrimp wrapped in prosciutto, tuna tartare, bruschetta and the like – a good light meal, before heading off to a film or while you avoid traffic on Ventura Boulevard.
Things have certainly changed over the years, both in the world of dining and the world of Italian restaurants. Back in the day, pasta was pasta. There were different shapes and sizes, but it was pasta made from wheat. Now, if such is your desire (or your need), you can get the pastas at Farfalla made with whole wheat, with organic gluten-free whatever and with the grain called farro. The cost for those variants is $2 a pop. Dining at Farfalla is a pleasure because they take care of many needs.
My needs are far more basic and well cared for with a nice bowl of fettuccine Bolognese, one of the most essential of Italian pasta dishes. It´s a seemingly simple creation that takes hours, even days to prepare, as beef and veal are slow-cooked until they basically devolve into molecules of meat in sauce and herbs and spices. A good Bolognese, like a fine roast chicken, is a thing of beauty, a joy if not forever, then at least until you finish the last bit.
There´s a lasagna Bolognese at Farfalla that I think I remember from the original menu; good luck not eating too much. Indeed, the pastas have a fine edge of how we used to eat, from the capellini or penne checca with diced tomatoes, olive oil and garlic to the linguine vongole with clams and white wine sauce and, yes, spaghetti with meatballs (though the meatballs are a bit fancier than they used to be; they´re called polpette).
Dishes of sacred memory persist. Chicken, the go-to ingredient, is done piccata (with a lemon and caper sauce), marsala (with mushrooms and a wine sauce), Milanese (breaded and sauteed), Parmigiana (breaded and topped with cheese), house style (roasted) and Sorrentina (sauteed with mozzarella).