There comes a moment in every budding romance where you have to make a critical decision: Where do we eat?
This question is a trap. It’s not about sustenance; it’s about signaling. Are you “cool and casual”? Are you “serious and sophisticated”? Are you “willing to drive to the Valley for a good photo op”?
In Los Angeles, where your zip code is your personality type, choosing a restaurant is a blood sport. And no food item carries more emotional baggage than pizza. Pizza is personal. Are you a folders-and-creasers? A crust-leavers? (If so, get out of my blog).
Over years of dating—some successful, many disastrous, all involving carbs—I have developed a definitive theory: You can map the entire trajectory of a relationship by where you eat pizza.
To prove this, I’m breaking down the three distinct stages of modern dating using three very different LA pizza powerhouses: Bacari, Pizzana, and Casaléna.
Buckle up. It’s about to get cheesy.
Stage 1: The “Are We Vibes?” Phase (The Bacari Stage)
The Scene: You’ve matched on Hinge. You’ve exchanged three days of witty banter. He’s used the “🥺” emoji inappropriately, but you’re willing to overlook it because he’s 6’2″. It’s time for the first date.
The Goal: To determine if this person is a sociopath without committing to a full three-course meal. You need low lighting, high-ABV cocktails, and food that doesn’t require unhinging your jaw like a python to eat.
The Solution: Bacari (Silverlake, West 3rd, Sherman Oaks, etc.)
Bacari is the unofficial sponsor of LA first dates. Why? Because it is designed to be “effortless,” which is the most high-effort aesthetic of all. The patios are always draped in string lights, the music is at the exact volume where you have to lean in to hear (flirty!), and the entire menu is built on “small plates.”
“Small plates” is restaurant code for “We don’t trust you to finish a whole entree.” And on a first date, that’s perfect.
The Pizza Strategy: The “Cicchetti” Approach
The pizzas at Bacari are not meals; they are accessories to your sangria. They are what the Venetians call cicchetti—snacks designed to keep you upright while you drink. They are small, oval-ish, and have a cracker-thin crust. This is crucial because it means you won’t end the date looking like you’re three months pregnant with a food baby.
- What I Order: The Asian Pear & Brie Pizza.
- Why: This pizza is a litmus test. It sounds fancy. It has truffle oil on it (the perfume of first dates). It’s sweet, salty, and safe. If your date sees “Asian Pear” on a pizza and says, “Ew, fruit shouldn’t be on pizza,” you know immediately that they are unimaginative and probably bad in bed. Cut your losses.
- The Vibe Check: Bacari pizza is easy. You pick up a small square, eat it in two bites, and continue asking him about his “entrepreneurial journey” (he sells NFTs). It’s low risk. If the date is crashing and burning, you can finish your tiny pizza square, down your “Bacarita,” and feign a family emergency in under 45 minutes.
But if it goes well? You order a second round. You move on to the fries with the fried egg on top. Bacari is the gateway drug of relationships. It’s the culinary equivalent of “just seeing where things go.”
Stage 2: The “Okay, We’re Doing This” Phase (The Pizzana Stage)
The Scene: It’s been three months. You’ve left a toothbrush at his apartment. You’ve stopped sucking in your stomach when you watch Netflix. You are officially “a thing.”
The Goal: To impress them with your superior taste and test their willingness to endure mild discomfort for greatness. You are now comfortable enough to eat messy food in front of them.
The Solution: Pizzana (Brentwood, West Hollywood, etc.)
Taking someone to Pizzana is a statement. It says, “I know what good food is, and I am willing to battle Brentwood traffic and wait 45 minutes for a table to get it.”
This is where you go when you stop trying to look cute while you eat. You go here to eat.
The Pizza Strategy: Respect the Flop
Pizzana is not for amateurs. This is “Neo-Neapolitan” pizza, masterminded by Chef Daniele Uditi. The dough is fermented for 48 hours. It is a living, breathing thing. It demands respect.
This is not a cracker crust you can hold in one hand while texting. The center of a Pizzana pie is notoriously “wet” or “floppy.” This is intentional, people! According to the strict standards of organizations like the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana, a true Neapolitan pizza should be soft, elastic, and easily foldable.
If you take a date here and they complain that their slice is drooping, dump them. They don’t respect the craft.
- What I Order: The Bianca.
- Why: It takes confidence to order a pizza without red sauce. The Bianca at Pizzana is a masterpiece of fennel sausage, mozzarella, and garlic. It is rich, pungent, and incredibly messy. You will get garlic breath. Oil will drip down your chin.
- The Relationship Test: This is the intimacy test. If he lovingly wipes a smudge of ricotta off your cheek, marry him. If he looks horrified by the way you inhale a slice of the Spinaci (another favorite—it’s basically spinach dip on a pizza, and it is glorious), then he is not the one.
Pizzana is where you stop performing and start indulging. It’s where you realize that true love is finding someone who will split the last piece of Pepperoni Pizza (the little cups that curl up and hold pools of grease—god’s work) without resenting you for it.
The Scene: You’ve been together for three years. You have a joint calendar. Your idea of a wild Friday night is ordering takeout and falling asleep during a documentary about fungi before 10 PM.
The Goal: You need to get out of the house. You need to feel like “people who do things.” But you are also exhausted and refuse to deal with Westside parking or restaurants where the tables are four inches apart. You need a “scene,” but you want it to be easy.
The Solution: Casaléna (Woodland Hills)
Welcome to the “Valley Compromise.”
Casaléna is massive. It’s 8,000 square feet of “resort vibes” plunked down in a strip mall on Ventura Blvd. It’s where Westsiders go when they accept that comfort is more important than clout, and where Valley dwellers go to feel like they’re on vacation in Tulum.
The Pizza Strategy: The Crowd Pleaser
The pizza at Casaléna is the culinary equivalent of a long-term relationship: it’s reliable, comforting, and doesn’t ask too much of you.
It’s not trying to challenge your palate with 48-hour fermentation or obscure Italian toppings. It’s sturdy. It’s the kind of pizza designed to be eaten while shouting over loud house music in a sunken patio that looks like it was sponsored by Restoration Hardware.
- What We Shared: The Bianca Pizza.
- Why: Yes, another Bianca. But look at the difference. Pizzana’s Bianca is a delicate, artisanal experience that requires focus. Casaléna’s Bianca (ricotta, mozzarella, parmesan, goat cheese, red onion, pistachio) is a party pizza. It’s heavier, cheesier, and sturdier.
- The Vibe: You don’t go to Casaléna for the pizza. You go because you and another couple need a night out. You order a bunch of pizzas for the table because they are easy to share while you complain about interest rates and how tired you are.
As noted by lifestyle authorities like Goop, the modern dining experience is often more about the environment—the “wellness” aesthetic of the space—than the food itself. Casaléna nails this. The pizza is a prop in your beautiful life. It’s good! It’s solid. It doesn’t droop. It doesn’t challenge you.
And sometimes, deep in a committed relationship, that’s exactly what you need. You don’t want a pizza that requires a user manual. You want a pizza that tastes good with a spicy margarita while you sit by a fire pit and remember that you used to be fun.
The Final Verdict: Trust the Crust
So, what does your pizza choice say about you?
If you’re still at Bacari, enjoy the thrill of the chase, you crazy kids. Keep ordering those tiny squares and pretending you’re not hungry.
If you’re at Pizzana, congratulations. You are in the golden era of dining. Eat the floppy crust, get messy, and revel in the fact that you’ve found someone worthy of garlic breath.
And if you’re at Casaléna? Welcome to the club. We have comfortable chairs, easy parking, and very solid pizza that pairs perfectly with exhaustion and a slightly cynical sense of humor. Move over; I’ll split the Bianca with you.
Read More on Culinary Passages
Because if you’re still reading this, you clearly have excellent taste in judgment.
- The Valley Apology Tour: Can Casaléna Finally Bridge the Great Divide? – Our full review of the Woodland Hills behemoth. Spoilers: The eggplant was mediocre.
- The Great Gamble on Oysters: When to fold ‘em and when to slurp ‘em – How to eat raw seafood on a date without ending up in the ER.
- 7 Glorious, Kid-Free LA Experiences – For when you love your offspring, but you love silence and cocktails more.
- The New “Swicy” Cocktail Trend Is Attacking Me Personally – Why is everything suddenly spicy and sweet? An investigation into the jalapeño-industrial complex.
- How to Survive Thanksgiving with “Batch Cocktails” – Because your family is unbearable unless you are drinking out of a pitcher.
About The Author
Ginger Graham is the Chief Taste Tester, Westside Snob, and Resident Pizza Therapist for Culinary Passages. She believes that there is no problem in life that cannot be solved, or at least temporarily ignored, with enough melted cheese. She currently lives on the Westside with her husband, Brad, where they frequently argue about whether the drive to Pizzana is “worth it” (It is, Brad. It always is.) When she isn’t analyzing crust density, she’s probably negotiating with her dog or trying to figure out TikTok.
