In late spring of 2006, on a picture-perfect corner of the West Village, Little Owl quietly opened its doors. The small jewel-box of a restaurant, housed in a building best known as the exterior of the Friends building, had maybe 30 seats.
Gabe Stulman managed the floor, and chef Joey Campanaro worked the line, creating a menu of new American fare that was, at the time, actually new. Word soon got out about the petite space, the big pork chop, and the mouthwatering meatball sliders served with gravy, all creating a buzz in the food world. Within weeks, it was a hot spot and by the summer of 2006, Frank Bruni awarded Campanaro and the Little Owl team two stars in The New York Times.
This was before social media as we now know it, when food blogs broke news and local media was vital to a restaurant’s success, not influencers. This was before Friends fans discovered Little Owl and flocked to take selfies in front of the building, and long before COVID threatened the very existence of restaurants like this.
As Campanaro looks ahead to Little Owl’s upcoming anniversary, we caught up with him to gauge his feelings about the milestone.
Congrats on 20 years. Did you have a master plan when you opened in 2006 on this corner?
I didn’t open with a master plan to be here this long, but I did open with an instinct. And I listened to that instinct. My first wife, Paula, found this location and I listened to her; Little Owl wouldn’t exist without that moment.
Photo courtesy of Little Owl
There’s an [actual] little owl perched on the storied wooden building across the street that watches over the intersection. This corner has energy. This anniversary is about evolution, not survival. Twenty years sounds like a long time and in restaurant years, it’s ancient, but in New York years, it’s a blink.
Back then, did you need convincing to go out on your own? Who did you listen to?
[Back then], I listened to my chef-mentors and friends, like Jimmy Bradley and Jonathan Waxman. I listened to [designer] Maggie Baisch Hollingsworth, my cousin Tommy Campanaro, [employees] Miguel Machuca, Richie Giovati, and Essence Imani Shirley, and my restaurant publicist, Jesse Gerstein.
I listened to the neighborhood when it whispered and complained, and most importantly, I listened to my staff. They cared about me and about the restaurant and about our collective success. I’ve always had the biggest heart, and I think they saw that and when I was uncertain, they protected me. That kind of loyalty that isn’t transactional, it’s human.
You must be so proud of what you all built there. Do you still feel like you have something to prove?
I’m accountable to my team, to the guest who orders the same thing every Tuesday, to the energy of the room itself. [Back] in 2006, I was cooking to find my voice and prove my presence, [but] now I’m cooking to protect what we’ve built. And it’s so much fun. I am still inspired to be here every day; I love this restaurant.
Two decades ago, great service lived in the room and kitchens ran on adrenaline; now, every moment lives online, filtered, tagged, judged, debated. Now, we talk about sustainability, not just of food, but of culture and lifestyle, and that evolution matters.
So many changes in the past 20 years and you guys saw it all. You lived through it!
We lived through the financial crisis, Instagram, delivery apps, COVID, labor shortages, city task forces, rent spikes, comment sections, landlords— the whole circus. But we stayed small and stayed personal. We only serve beer and wine, and always have. No hard liquor, no bottle service, [yet] somehow, no one even realizes it.
Perhaps that’s our distraction: we’re a bohemian country club with no membership card. Twenty years of stewardship doesn’t feel much like an accomplishment, it feels like a privileged responsibility. We get to be here. We’re not trying to be louder than anyone else. In a city that’s constantly reinventing itself, we’re trying to be consistent in our own Little Owl way and consistency can be radical.
Well said. Any last words as you and the team sail into your 20-year-anniversary?
Twenty years ago, I thought I was opening a restaurant. What I was really doing was stepping into an incubator of lessons, a proving ground, and eventually a home. Through every version of myself, the door kept opening. We didn’t survive by predicting the future, we survived by listening, to mentors, to the team, to the guests, and to the energy of this intersection.
If we did anything right, it’s that when people walk in, they feel something that isn’t manufactured. It feels lived-in, genuinely loved, protected, and real.
Twenty years here feels like a blink. The little owl’s still watching, the lights and music are still on. We’ve never 86’d the gravy meatball sliders from the menu. And you know what? I’m still listening.
Visit Little Owl for lunch Monday through Thursday from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., Friday 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., and Friday and Saturday from 9 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Dinner is served daily from 5 to 10 p.m. 90 Bedford St., West Village, thelittleowlnyc.com
