Having enjoyed the original location for Lola in the Tremont area of Cleveland, I was curious how fame and money had transformed her move downtown. Still dark, but much more swanky Lola seems to fit both Chef Symon’s position and personality. Black clad staff float like wraiths through the darkness appearing tableside just when you manage to empty your glass or clear your plate. It even seems they have been picking up some ideas from the right places with little crocks of butter and a superbly attentive service, mirroring other recent experiences, which is in no way a slight. Matter of fact, the past couple of visits have resulted in a better service rating. Clevelanders hopefully know how rare is the opportunity for smaller market cities to have this in their backyard.
 

In some way he manages to maintain a balance in his maniacal goofiness and growing adoration. If you have never heard his laugh resounding off the walls you are missing more than just food. He appears as passionate about his craft as others are about the attention it garners. It shows on the plate. Knowing him to be a worshiper of the almighty hog, I ordered a complete course of pig, bacon appetizer, chop entrée, bacon dessert. Each bite bringing with it a note of sadness as I know they are doing this every night and I cannot. Drowning out that singular note is a cacophony of freakin' awesome. Everything is impeccable and makes perfect sense, even the maple bacon ice-cream on the 6 a.m. special dessert of brioche French toast. A taste of everyone else’s dinner ensures me that everything is great but I am hesitant and jealous to surrender my plates, certain the pork was the direction to go.