The Heart of a Kitchen: Moti Sofer’s Journey from La Repubblica to Lento
There’s something profoundly moving about a chef who doesn’t just cook food but cooks with emotion. Moti Sofer, the man who brought Italy to Tel Aviv, is one such chef. His story isn’t just about restaurants or recipes—it’s about resilience, reinvention, and the enduring power of family. Personally, I think what makes Sofer’s journey so captivating is how he weaves his personal life into his culinary identity. It’s not just about the food; it’s about the heart behind it.
The Mother’s Touch: Where It All Began
Sofer’s story starts in his mother’s kitchen, a place where he learned more than just recipes. Yvonne, his mother, wasn’t just a cook—she was a storyteller, a teacher, and a source of unwavering support. What many people don’t realize is that the kitchen, for Sofer, is a sanctuary. It’s where he found solace after his parents’ deaths, where he connects with his late mother’s voice, and where he channels her spirit into every dish.
One thing that immediately stands out is his description of himself as having “the heart of a woman.” This isn’t just a poetic phrase; it’s a philosophy. In a world where kitchens are often portrayed as high-pressure, testosterone-fueled environments, Sofer’s approach is refreshingly human. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t throw plates—he leads with empathy. From my perspective, this is what sets him apart. It’s not just about the food; it’s about the culture he creates in his kitchen.
Chraime, Gender, and the Art of Cooking
Let’s talk about chraime—a dish that, in Sofer’s hands, becomes a metaphor for identity. There’s a men’s chraime and a women’s chraime, he explains. Men’s chraime is rough, wild, with tomatoes and half a lemon. Women’s chraime is delicate, with tomato paste and paprika. Sofer makes the men’s version, but here’s the twist: he’s a man who embraces both masculinity and femininity in his cooking.
What this really suggests is that cooking, like life, isn’t about rigid categories. It’s about blending, adapting, and finding balance. This raises a deeper question: Can a chef truly excel without embracing both strength and sensitivity? I think Sofer’s answer is a resounding yes.
La Repubblica: A Chapter Closes
La Repubblica wasn’t just a restaurant—it was an institution. It hosted politicians, writers, and actors. It was a place where people came to experience Italy in the heart of Tel Aviv. But after October 7, everything changed. Sofer’s decision to close La Repubblica wasn’t just a business move; it was a moment of reflection.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how he frames the closure. He doesn’t dwell on the loss; instead, he sees it as a chapter in his life’s work. “I don’t look back,” he says. This isn’t just resilience—it’s wisdom. In a world where failure is often stigmatized, Sofer reminds us that endings are just new beginnings.
Fatherhood and the Return to Home
Becoming a father at 46 was a turning point for Sofer. It wasn’t just about having a child; it was about rediscovering himself. He calls himself “Mother Goose” now, a nickname that speaks volumes about his role as both a chef and a parent. What many people don’t realize is that fatherhood gave him a new perspective on life—and on cooking.
His son, Michael, is a culinary critic in his own right, with a palate that rivals his father’s. This detail that I find especially interesting is how Sofer’s relationship with Michael mirrors his relationship with his own mother. It’s a cycle of knowledge, love, and tradition passing from one generation to the next.
Lento: A New Beginning
Lento, Sofer’s new restaurant in Shefayim, is more than just a business venture. It’s a reflection of where he is in life right now. The name, which means “slow” in Italian, is ironic given Sofer’s restless nature. But it’s also intentional. If you take a step back and think about it, Lento is about slowing down, about savoring the moment.
The menu is smaller, more focused. The dishes are simpler, but no less exquisite. Sofer’s use of the Josper oven, a Spanish innovation, adds a smoky depth to his Italian cuisine. What this really suggests is that even after 30 years in the business, Sofer is still evolving, still experimenting.
Why Shefayim, Not Tel Aviv?
Sofer’s decision to open Lento in Shefayim instead of Tel Aviv is a strategic one. Tel Aviv, he says, is saturated. The restaurant scene is dominated by big groups, and the audience is critical. Shefayim, on the other hand, is a “parallel universe”—a place where people appreciate good food without the pretension.
In my opinion, this move is a masterstroke. It’s not just about escaping the competition; it’s about finding an audience that truly values what he brings to the table. Shefayim isn’t just a location; it’s a mindset.
The Future: Less is More
Sofer’s philosophy of “less is more” isn’t just about his menu; it’s about his approach to life. Italian cuisine, he says, is minimal—five items on a plate, no more. This simplicity is what makes his food so powerful. It’s not about overwhelming the senses; it’s about letting each ingredient shine.
What this really suggests is that in a world obsessed with excess, Sofer is a reminder of the beauty of restraint. It’s a lesson that extends beyond the kitchen, into how we live our lives.
Final Thoughts
Moti Sofer’s journey from La Repubblica to Lento is more than just a career shift—it’s a story of growth, reflection, and reinvention. He’s a chef who cooks with his heart, a father who teaches with love, and a man who embraces both strength and sensitivity.
Personally, I think what makes Sofer so inspiring is his ability to find meaning in every chapter of his life. He doesn’t just survive; he thrives. And in doing so, he reminds us that the best recipes—in cooking and in life—are the ones that come from the heart.
So, here’s to Moti Sofer, the chef who brought Italy to Tel Aviv and now brings a piece of his soul to Shefayim. May Lento become the institution he hopes it will be, and may his story continue to inspire us all.
