The Review: Can’t get into the Ivy? Book at Cecconi’s
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At the latest London import, Cecconi’s, an expat Brit orders a cocktail, leans back against the luxurious cushions strewn along the terrace banquette and opens the morning’s Times — that would be the Times of London. Hostesses have a tony British accent, some of the servers, too. A gentleman in a bespoke suit with tie and matching hankie tucked into his breast pocket glides past our table at lunch.
Most of the crowd, though, consists of ladies who lunch, several generations of them, many bestowed with major bling, major work, and itty-bitty appetites chattering over pretty salads and dainty servings of seabass carpaccio. Can’t get into the Ivy a few blocks south on Robertson Boulevard? Reserve at Cecconi’s: The food from former All’Angelo and Dolce chef Mirko Paderno is much better....
Cecconi´s biggest surprise is reserved for the prices, which are remarkably moderate.
-- S. Irene Virbila
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