Angelina’s
689 South Ave.
435-4039
The secret to Angelina’s remarkable food isn’t molecular gastronomy or rare imported ingredients. “It’s just salt and pepper,” chef Steven Lara says.
In fact, he’s baffled by the guests who claim his dishes are the best they’ve had.
This simple approach masks a rigorous philosophy. Every morning, fresh peppercorns—both black and pink—are ground in-house. Each element of the South Wedge restaurant’s pared-down menu is seasoned individually, tasted, and adjusted.
He says it’s a practice that is fundamental yet often overlooked.
“If you don’t season it and try it before that final product hits the guests, you miss your opportunity,” Lara explains.
His attention to detail extends throughout Angelina’s—from the $400 weekly investment in Castelvetrano olive oil to handmade pastas to the genuine hospitality behind treating patrons as guests entering his home.
This is the creative foundation for a chef who refuses to be boxed in.
“I get bored really fast,” Lara admits with a laugh. “Here, I have full autonomy to change as often as I want.” That freedom manifests in menus that transform weekly, sometimes even more frequently, depending on what local farms deliver and what creative inspiration strikes in the middle of the night.
The restaurant’s fluid identity marks a deliberate evolution from Lara’s culinary past. Years ago, he ran the kitchen at Orbs—Bob Caranddo’s beloved South Wedge spot known for its gourmet meatballs and playful spherical foods. When Caranddo reached out to “get the band back together” for his new venture, Angelina’s, Lara could have easily revived the greatest hits.
The reunion tour is impressive: Kimbo Yews Brozic, who once worked under Orbs’s head bartender, now runs the bar program. One guy started as a dishwasher and has stuck with Lara for more than ten years. Same prep cook. Even a few servers returned to join the floor at Angelina’s.
But this isn’t a nostalgia act. Instead, he saw an opportunity for reinvention rather than nostalgia.
“It was fun back then, but I felt like it was a time and place, and that should stay there,” Lara says.
This philosophy extends to the physical space itself. The corner location at South Avenue and Gregory Street has undergone a complete metamorphosis from its days as the Toasted Bear Tavern. Gone are the wood-paneled walls that defined the previous tenant. It’s now a bright, airy environment with floor-to-ceiling windows that flood the 4,000-square-foot interior with natural light.
The aesthetic feels like Scandinavian minimalism having a love affair with New York bistro sensibilities. Clean lines and neutral tones create a canvas where the food becomes the focal point. For returning Orbs patrons, the transformation is startling, but for newcomers, it’s simply welcoming.
What emerged is a restaurant with its own culinary identity. On any given visit, the menu might showcase coastal summer fare with impeccable lobster rolls and fish tacos or housemade pasta with Asian or Latin American influences, all designed to be shared.
While Lara is a self-described culinary commitment-phobe with “ADD when it comes to menus,” certain dishes have demonstrated impressive staying power.
The arancini cacio e pepe ($19)—perhaps the restaurant’s only instance of a sphere—has survived every menu revision since opening. These golf ball-sized treasures deliver pepper-spiked perfection that somehow improves on the pasta version.
The exterior shatters with a satisfying crunch that gives way to an interior so perfectly creamy you’ll wonder why more restaurants haven’t stolen this concept.
Then there’s The Chicken Cutlet ($26)—yes, capital letters required—which has achieved such cult status that it followed Lara from his previous post at Carnegie Cellars. On my visit, his take on classic chicken Milanese arrived perfectly golden, served with mixed greens tossed in herbed ranch and showered with shavings of pecorino.
When I press for his technique, he dismisses rumors of complex brines or breading methods. The only secret is the restaurant gets “good chicken” from local producers Fisher Hill and Schenk Homestead Farms.
Perhaps the most ingenious offering might be the smash burger ($22), which Lara describes as a “weird oblong pull-apart burger” served on brioche hot dog buns. With crispy pork belly providing an additional layer of indulgence, it solves the puzzling question of how to share a burger without resorting to the undignified knife-down-the-middle approach.
It’s an intentional contrast to massive, shareable burgers like the one-pound behemoth at Good Luck.
“I had a hard time figuring out the burger,” Lara admits. He looked to his California roots, channeling the simple perfection of In-N-Out. The result is refreshingly unpretentious seasoned ground beef smashed until the edges develop that coveted lacy crispness, topped with nothing more than lettuce, tomato, onions, and pickles, and, of course, his own signature sauce.
When a recent review criticized it for tasting “like a backyard chop burger,” Lara was elated. “That’s what I was going for,” he says.
And any pasta is non-negotiable. Each batch is made in-house daily with eggs sourced from local farms, a labor-intensive process that Lara insists is worth every minute.
“That’s where you really taste the difference,” he says. “If you open a box, it’s going to taste like the pasta you get everywhere else.”
The rigatoni with creamy vodka sauce ($25) deserves special attention. It’s a dish that happens to be vegetarian—a choice in a menu that Lara says is more than half vegetarian-friendly.
It might sound like a college-apartment staple until you taste his version, where the absence of pancetta or prosciutto isn’t remotely noticeable. The sauce delivers a balance of acid and richness with a subtle, building heat that transforms it from comfort food to conversation piece. What sends it into the stratosphere is the addition of stracciatella—creamy, shredded mozzarella filling found inside burrata—which melts into the sauce creating pockets of dairy decadence.
When I mention how vodka sauce has become ubiquitous on menus all around our area, often at bargain prices, Lara nods.
“Some people might be upset by paying over $20 for it. But this is a very different product,” he explains. “You’re not just opening a can of sauce. We’ve paid attention to the detail.”
That attention includes meticulous seasoning at every stage and high quality ingredients. This thoughtful approach reflects both Lara’s culinary philosophy and the neighborhood’s demographics.
“The South Wedge is very health-conscious,” he notes.
His vegetable-forward offerings like the grilled broccolini ($18)—the restaurant’s biggest seller over the summer—and seasonal salads aren’t relegated to side dish status or labeled as vegetarian alternatives. They’re menu stars in their own right.
“I never want to exclude anybody,” Lara says. “It’s easier to have options available on the menu instead of having to think of something on the fly.”
Drink pairings are equally thoughtful with their own charming origin story. When the restaurant discovered its proximity to a church meant no hard liquor license, bar manager Brozic transformed potential disaster into distinctive identity.
Her “lo-fi” cocktails—lower-ABV creations built around sake, aperitifs, and wine bases—have become signature offerings rather than compromises.
cucumber, and herbed ranch dressing
Fans of martinis will find unexpected satisfaction in the soju version ($13) with olive brine and dill—a clever work-around that delivers the savory appeal of a dirty martini without the high-proof intensity. The gentle botanicals and subtle salinity create a surprisingly complex sipper that might actually improve on the original by allowing the more delicate flavors to shine through.
The Negroni Sbagliato ($13) arrives with the perfect bittersweet balance and Instagrammable presentation that would make it a standout even in a full-spirits program. Sometimes the deliciously creative solutions emerge from the unexpected limitations.
When I return to Angelina’s three weeks after my initial visit, the menu has already evolved—the early spring menu giving way to more summery offerings. The chicken cutlet remains, of course (Lara may be creatively restless, but he’s not foolish), though now it’s accompanied by different seasonal companions.
“I found what I’m good at,” Lara says. “I’m a little weird and creative.”
In a culinary world where chefs often brand themselves with increasingly specific niches and culinary philosophies, there’s something liberating about Lara’s refusal to be categorized.
This isn’t a marketing problem—it’s the restaurant’s greatest strength. In refusing to declare what kind of restaurant it is, it can become whatever the neighborhood needs most at any given moment.
As I finish my meal, I’m struck by a final irony. In a conversation largely about seasoning, Lara himself might be the most perfectly calibrated ingredient in Angelina’s success. Neither overpowering nor invisible, he’s crafted a menu that expresses his vision while genuinely serving its neighborhood’s needs.
The South Wedge has always been a refuge for the fiercely independent—a neighborhood that wears its character like a badge of honor. It has found its culinary soulmate: a restaurant that mirrors the area’s authentic, unvarnished charm. Uncompromising in quality yet refreshingly unpretentious, wildly creative without a hint of preciousness.
The rest, as Lara might say with his characteristic shrug, is just salt and pepper.
This article originally appeared in the September/October 2025 issue of (585).
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