A Dinner of Deep Roots
The menu at Lele Dinner Club reads like a love letter to Campania, each dish a distillation of Daniele’s culinary identity and the region that shaped him. “Italian food is regional. It changes every few miles—even from town to town,” he said. “And I didn’t see anyone in LA doing what I grew up with.”
The opening trio of wood-fired focacce is deceptively simple, but deeply intentional. One comes slathered with pomodori and the reduced drippings of mozzarella di bufala—a nod to the raw ingredients of his childhood. Another layers aged conciato Romano from Manuel Lombardi, a Slow Food–protected producer in Castel di Sasso, over pork fat and fruit, evoking a street snack Roman soldiers once ate before or after battle in Pompeii. The third uses overcooked friarielli—Neapolitan broccoli rabe braised until creamy and laid over pecorino fonduta—a defiant rejection of crunchy greens in favor of comfort and nostalgia. “That’s how we eat it in Naples,” Daniele said. “Not the Instagram version. The real one.”
Even the pasta courses are thick with memory. The mezzanelli lardiata, made with aged pomodorino del piennolo tomatoes and rendered pork fat, simmers for over six hours until it reaches a sweet, velvety richness. “We didn’t always have olive oil growing up,” he said. “But we had pigs. We had strutto.” The dish is finished with pecorino romano and broken by hand—a callback to Sundays with his mother, when it was his job to snap the long pasta sticks before they hit the pot.
Then there’s the pasta e fagioli, made with scraps of broken pasta—pasta mista, once given away in paper bags to the poor—and simmered with creamy beans. Topped with aglio e olio aglio fritto-style, it’s smoky, rich, and comforting. “This is how we ate every day,” Daniele said. “Maybe not with meat. But always with pasta and legumes.”
The fish course might be the clearest expression of his restraint. A simple filet seared at over 700°F, finished with lemon and parsley oil. “We don’t need a French sauce,” he said. “The fish is the sauce.” And it shows. Crisped skin. Flaky flesh. Clean, briny finish. It was the most understated dish of the night—and also the most perfect.
Even the steak, a dish Daniele admits he’s taken liberties with, is anchored in tradition. It riffs on fettina aglio e olio, the thin slices of beef his mom would cook in garlic and parsley oil. Here, he elevates it with a medium-rare cut, a beef-fat fondo bruno, and a drizzle of olio bruciato. “That dish used to annoy me as a kid,” he laughed. “Now it’s the one I’m most proud of.”
Uditi is joined in the kitchen by chef Mason Royal, whose background in L.A. kitchens helps bring a grounded creativity and rhythm to the evening’s flow. That rhythm, in turn, shapes the experience itself—where each course isn’t just a plate, but a passage. Through Naples, through Uditi’s childhood, through the stories he grew up with and the ones he’s telling now.
And with Ferdinando Mucerino selecting rare wines from Campania—some aged under the sea, others bottled before Italian unification—the storytelling isn’t just culinary. It’s cultural. “The goal is to make a memory,” Daniele said. “To serve you a wine you’ll never drink again, with a dish you’ll never forget.”
