Spranda Factory

I wanted a sausage!

For my money, there is no better show on television than Top Chef.  Yeah, yeah Hosea won and he’s a big douche who can’t keep it in his pants for two goddamn weeks without cheating on the woman he “loves,” but aside from his sorry act there were some great fucking contestants on this year.  One of the favorites of course was Italian import Fabio Viviani, whose restaurant Cafe Firenze is right here in SoCal.  So it was with great excitement that I organized a pilgrimage to Moorpark, California to dine on what we hoped would be some Legit Italian cuisine.  It was a journey that would eventually find me attempting to kill myself with a plate full of grilled sausage.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Los Angeles, Moorpark is a dusty little town an hour to the northwest of the center of the city.  For those who know the city, Moorpark is the last outpost of civilization to the west of Simi Valley, just before farm country.  This odd, out of the way location is where Fabio has set up the best Italian restaurant I’ve ever had the pleasure to dine in.  If you think that The Olive Garden is food then you don’t deserve to eat here.

The Brothers Antonucci with the man of the hour.

First off, the restaurant is big, with four dining areas (including a covered patio out back), a full bar, and a dude playing classical guitar in the corner.  The place is nice…like, really nice.  This guy’s got balls as big as mountains to sell his three restaurants in Italy, pack up everything, and open a swanky joint like this in…Moorpark.

Everything was great here…I mean everything.  From the bread, to the wide variety of martinis (of which our table sampled five different varieties), to the appetizers and the entrees.  Everything was amazing.

We started with beef carpaccio and fried calamari.  The carpaccio was amazing.  The calamari was good…probably as good as it gets for fried calamari.  Next was a big bowl of lobster bisque which was daaaaamn tasty.  Then…came the sausage.  The photo doesn’t do the portion justice.  These were good sized sausages, grilled and served over mashed potatoes and veggies.  One bite and I was in salty, meaty heaven.  This was straight-up the best sausage I’ve ever had.  Juicy and flavorful with just enough light crispy goodness grilled onto the skin to…well…to make me hurt myself.  My brain shut down and I dug in, enjoying bite after savory bite.  Two sausages later, a voice somewhere from deep within was crying out to be heard.  Sensing that the voice was trying to tell me to stop eating, I did what any sensible red-blooded American would do…I ignored it and chowed down.  The third sausage didn’t stand a chance.  I dominated it.

The waitress came by to ask if we wanted desert and I shooed her away before anyone could answer.  The mere sight of more food at that point would have caused my weary heart to seize up in sheer panic.  I was in pain…a pain that I have only known on the occasional Thanksgiving when everything turns out juuust right.  We paid the check and headed for the exits.  The Brothers Antonucci got Fabio to walk away from the kitchen, where he was busy expediting, to take a quick photo.  He saw the women off with a wink and a smile which made them all squeal like ten year old girls at a Jonas Brothers concert…I feel like he gets a lot of this.  The rest of the night was…well it was rough.  I thought I might die…hell maybe even hoped I would die, if only for a moment.  I mean, what eventually does kill me will probably not be as wonderful as what I had just experienced.

So there you have it folks.  Don’t delay.  Gather your loved ones, pick up the phone, and make your reservation at Cafe Firenze.  If you don’t enjoy your meal then please don’t bother returning to Los Angeles.  Stay in Moorpark…I hear they’re building an Applebees out there.  You won’t be missed.

www.cafefirenze.net