Ottolenghi The name is spoken in hushed, reverent tones, like a prayer. Ottolenghi. It rolls off the tongue, the third syllable stressed and elongated, like a Gregorian chant. Ottolenghi. Foodies who were lucky enough to receive a copy of Ottolenghi or Jerusalem or Plenty for Christmas felt blessed from on high. As if God himself had penned the words, tested the recipes and taken the photographs. What is it about the name? What is it about a take-away shop that quietly opened in Notting Hill in London and gave birth to three more? Um, I thought there were crackers. There are crackers, right?