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 Primo Hollywood Passes Muster With The Toughest Critics In Town -- Bored Kids. By Rebecca Cook MAYBE I'M JUST a sucker for red-and-white checkered tablecloths dappled with the light of a flickering candle and festooned with a bottle of Chianti snuggled invitingly in its trademark wicker mantle. Maybe it's the nearly bargain-basement prices and the gargantuan serving portions. Or it might have been the white-haired gentleman pianist stationed precariously in front of the restrooms playing "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes." Whatever the impetus, I arrived at one unquestionable conclusion: I really like Primo Hollywood, the new Italian restaurant tucked behind Trader Joe's at Speedway and Wilmot Road. Owner Richard Primavera (Primo is a family nickname) has put together a restaurant using a combination of his grandfather's tried-and-true recipes, a comfortable and wholesome family dining atmosphere (unless you object to photographs of Frank Sinatra and movie posters from the Godfather), and prices that allow people on a budget to dine out once in a while without breaking the bank.
From the homemade mozzarella to the softball-sized meatballs to the pistachio-dusted cannoli, Primo Hollywood is rife with the singular nuances and special touches that make dining a genuine pleasure. I decided to put the restaurant to the ultimate test by enlisting the participation of my two children, ages 7 and 13, for this review. These guys are a tough audience, having gone out to dinner enough times to reach the conclusion that the whole thing is a big drag, and they'd much rather stay home and order pizza. Needless to say, they're not easily impressed. The first thing they did was dive into the breadbasket, slathering slices with butter while muttering promises about not filling up before the main courses arrived. Next they lobbied for an order of breaded mozzarella cheese sticks, insisting that they were really hungry. The crispy fried cheese arrived accompanied by a small bowl of mildly seasoned tomato sauce. Like fiends, my young connoisseurs snatched up the still sizzling tidbits, testing the ability of the cheese to stretch teasingly from mouth to fingertip. First course: huge success.
Meanwhile, I was busy enjoying Primo's five-green house salad, another example of the restaurant's ability to surprise and delight. Drizzled delicately in a mild, red wine and garlic vinaigrette, I enjoyed the various and contrasting flavors of green-leaf lettuce, escarole, curly endive, arugula and red-leaf radicchio. Providing further delight was a gratis bowl of Italian tomatoes. Marinated lovingly in good olive oil, an obscene amount of fresh, minced garlic, fresh basil and a splash of vinegar, these delicious crimson wedges nearly became the highlight of the meal. Even the skater teen gave them the thumbs up. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night, Primo Hollywood offers an all-you-can-eat pasta deal, which allows diners to choose between a meat-based or meatless tomato sauce served over spaghetti, along with a salad, for $6.95. For an additional $1.25 you can add a few of those immense meatballs or some Italian sausage. Either way, it's a heck of a deal. The platter of food served on this special is so huge, it would seem a rarity for anyone to ask for his or her entitled refill. But if you love spaghetti--really love spaghetti and can't ever seem to get your fill--Primo Hollywood on these nights is the place for you. Primo's red sauce is ideal for a family restaurant: It has just enough spunk and flavor to satisfy the adults in the crowd, but is mild enough to entice the tiniest eaters to give it a try. And it's restrained enough not to cause gentler stomachs an undue amount of heartburn or distress later in the evening. The homemade cheese manicotti benefits likewise from this tomato-sauce bath: large pasta tubes stuffed with lots of creamy ricotta cheese and baked until bubbling in its own juices. There can't be many dishes more satisfying. Not that Primo Hollywood sticks solely with a pasta-based menu. Veal, chicken and seafood figure large in the mix, as well as pizza and a selection of sandwiches. Our skater ordered a shrimp scampi linguini, which came with several large crustaceans sautéed in a garlic and white wine sauce. The shrimp disappeared immediately, with the remainder of the noodles and sauce enjoyed the next day at home with a light sprinkling of freshly grated parmesan cheese. The dish was delicious both times. The smallest member of our crew ordered meat lasagna off the children's menu, where the prices are more pint-sized but the servings remain on par with the adult portions. Although he could barely make a dent in the ample serving, the youngest agreed that this rendition of Garfield's favorite food was quite tasty. One testament to the success of the entire meal was the telltale fact that nobody could muster much enthusiasm for dessert--usually my sons' only pleasure in consenting to eat out. I insisted that we sample the cannoli, however, and somehow the crispy pastry tube with its sweetened ricotta cheese filling, chopped pistachios and whipped cream disappeared completely. Rum cake, rum baba, cheesecake, napoleons, gelato and spumoni ice-cream will have to wait for another visit. It was a rigorous test administered by tough critics, but Primo Hollywood passed with flying colors. I think the kids will even want to go back again, which is most unusual.
As we drove past Primo Hollywood the other night with a passel
of skater kids in tow, my eldest pointed out the spot and announced,
"That place is really good. You guys should go there."
Out of the mouths of babes. Primo Hollywood. 1101 N. Wilmot Road. 721-4766. Open 11:30 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily. Full bar. V, MC, checks. Menu items: $3.95-$13.95.
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Primavera, a former marketing wizard and international banker
from Brooklyn, wonders why his first venture into the restaurant
industry (open for about six months now) isn't more popular. It's
a very good question.
My budding teenager opted for soup with his meal, choosing the
Italian wedding soup instead of the hearty minestrone. I anticipated
the predictable and unsightly separation of acceptable versus
unacceptable ingredients for consumption. Surprisingly, he slurped
the entire contents of his cup, laden with vegetables, chunks
of chicken, tiny meatballs and pasta in a light broth without
once pausing to remove anything from the whole. Concluding by
bringing one hand to his lips for a dramatic kiss, he pronounced
the soup, "Really good." What more can I say?
