Los Angeles

For a food nut like me, the long trip to New York in the dead of winter has proven more seductive than the short jaunt to Los Angeles. But recently, due to circumstances beyond my control (a kid who irrationally decided to go to college in the challenging south central), I spent a few days in Los Angeles.

Though I have lots to complain about--endless hours in a rental car during what turned out to be the biggest rain storm of the year; missed turn offs on seemingly mislabeled freeways; nightmarish traffic clogs on said arteries--I actually had a brilliant meal, stayed at a romantic, moderately priced hotel in a convenient location; the emotion packed Lucian Freud art show at the MOCA (250 S Grand Ave., Los Angeles, 213-626-6222).

When the Chateau Marmont on Sunset, my favorite place to stay in Los Angeles, quoted me a $395 a night rate for their simplest rooms, I called Express Hotel Reservations (800. 647-0002), a discount service, and told them my dilemma. The helpful booker turned me on to the Argyle (8358 Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, argylehotel.com) a meticulously preserved Art Deco independent with rooms starting at $169 a night. The adjoining restaurant and bar, The Fenix, a hot spot at night, turned out to be serene in the morning for excellent continental breakfast.

But first and foremost, I discovered the second most compelling reason to visit LA, a simple Italian trattoria, Angelini Osteria (7313 Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles, 323 297- 0070), only a five minute drive from the Argyle. The tip came from my most trusted sources and they were right. I called a couple of days in advance and secured an early-ish table in the cramped, noisy, unadorned dining room crammed with tiny bare wooden tables. Thank goodness ours became free after a short wait in the rain under some large umbrellas mercifully unfurled over a few sidewalk tables--there was no room for anyone to wait indoors. Soon, the waiter set down a plate of warm, crisp flatbread scented with a whisper of rosemary and thyme and sprinkled with sea salt. We munched as we read a menu that was full of kidney and tripe dishes; and I knew that we were in for something very, very good.

Indeed, Angelini's signature dish, tripe with grilled cuttlefish, sounded so bizarre I had to try it. The tomatoey, red chile-infused stew of rich, buttery tripe (without a hint of funkiness yet with the exciting edge of the internal organ), turned out to be one of the best dishes I've ever eaten, period. Each bite delivered deep layers of flavor and melting texture, set off by sweet, chewy-tender, fire licked slices of cuttlefish, contrastingly clean and juicy. How these two foods found themselves together in the same flat bowl and why this brilliant chef, Gino Angelini, figured out to put them there I'll never know, but his revelation would get me on a plane to Los Angeles tomorrow.

Yes, even the freshman was transported at Angelini by spinach lasagne, tender and puffy with velvety white sauce and almost custardy ricotta, layered with dusky meat sauce-- it's very existence seemed like a miracle. What a gorgeous creation! He also marvelled at the luminous flavors in an antipasto of creamy slices of prosciutto next to a slab of burrata, a super creamy water buffalo milk mozzarella with a center of mascarpone-flavored butter (the cheese is a fresh delicacy flown in overnight from southern Italy), next to a pouf of greens, some bitter, off set by a black and syrupy aged balsamico. Who knew that such fragile and regional Italian delights could even be found in America?

We ate a huge, pounded and breaded veal chop, crisp and buttery, served with a crunchy fritto misto of eggplant, zucchini and calamari fried in olive oil--another the cuttlefish/meat match-up. Too much fried food? Are you kidding?

The boy had a huge porterhouse steak with grilled radicchio served with a ramekin of coarse salt and buttery vegetables. The father had a small sea bass, a branzino, roasted in rock salt, the crust cracked open at the table, and the incomparably juicy and radiant flesh of the fish expertly scooped out by the waiter. This method, in which the fish essentially cooks in its own juices, most effectively espresses the nature of pristine wild fish.

We may have been too stuffed to give a too gelatinous panna cotta its due, but I can't wait to get back to Angelini. Thank goodness this extraordinary chef, Gino Angelini, once hidden behind kitchhen doors at the Art Deco palace, Rex il Ristorante, (now closed) and then at Vincenti in Brentwood, finally opened his own barebones place where the frugal can eat fabulous little pizzas, sparkling antipasti and pasta at lunch, and lush fish and meat dishes at dinner. The restaurants where he used to cook were expensive. At Angelini there's plenty of extraordinary dishes that anyone can afford.

Los Angeles, the ground zero for trends, is not immune from the craze for small plates of food at restaurants. The two women who started Lucques (8474 Melrose Avenue 323 655-6277), where chef Suzanne Goins and Carolyn Styne offer decidedly large plates of very voluptuous food, recently opened A.O.C. (8022 West Third Street, West Hollywood, 323-653-6359) a grand wine bar with a sit-down salami and cheese counter and tapas service at small tables.

You can choose from many inexpensive, delightfully tasty wines from all over Europe offered by the generous half carafe to wash down an international array of dishes. House-made charcuterie is a good place to start--parsleyed ham en gelee; potted pork spread on toasts; a truffled pork terrine--all prepared by an in-house French expert. Chicken liver crostini propped on salad greens topped with swirling ribbons of grilled pancetta turn rustic toasts into a glamorous appetizer. Sliced-to-order imported salami, prosciutto and serrano hams with portions of marcona almonds and olives, and then a plate of artisanal cheeses (sixteen to choose from) comprise a quick if sophisticated meal.

Hot dishes ($7 and up) abound, like a perfectly grilled quail accompanied with a relishy salad of pomengarate and pinenuts; or skewers of grilled lamb enlivened by a tart, herbal green sauce balanced with creamy feta. Cauliflower, one of many vegetable dishes on the menu, (really a long, narrow, three page list), emerges from the wood oven with crispy edges, fragrant with curry and red wine vinegar while clams, chickpeas and chorizo dance a snappy fandango together in a small earthenware cazuela.

There are so many choices that take you in so many directions that figuring out a cohesive meal can be a baffling exercise, but then that is my objection to all the small plate restaurants. Most people don't seem to lose their way, or care if they do. It will take me a few more college trys to sort out the luscious possibilities at A.O.C. I'm actually looking forward to it.

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