Style and substance

Out front, bright poppies with crinkled petals nod between clumps of scrappy grasses. The stairs are covered with a familiar pebbly surface -- isn’t that the same stuff that keeps kids from skidding into swimming pools? Orange lights glow at the entrance, and the clever pebbly surface continues into the restaurant.

Inside, it looks like a party.

Meson G, the new restaurant from Tim and Liza Goodell of Aubergine in Newport Beach burst onto the scene in November, bringing a new sparkle to the old Citrus space. This is not Aubergine redux. It’s something quite different: a serious restaurant that’s also fun.

At the maitre d’ station, a woman in a skinny coat with a spiky fur collar regrets to inform us that Meson G is “fully committed� for the night. Guess she never saw the play of the same name, a hilarious sendup of restaurant-speak. I’ve gotten so used to not having to make a reservation at high-end restaurants on a weeknight that I’ve misjudged.

Tim Goodell is a brilliant chef, one of California’s best, so expectations run high for Meson G. Though he opened Whist in Santa Monica, he soon pulled out; this is the first L.A. restaurant he’s owned and fully controlled. And it’s on the site of Michel Richard’s seminal French-California restaurant, Citrus, so it’s a double whammy.

But instead of taking control of the kitchen, Goodell is playing entrepreneur with this new venture. His first loyalty is to Aubergine. To head the kitchen, he’s hired Eric Greenspan, who was chef at Patina before that restaurant moved into Disney Hall. I’ve wondered how that was going to work. Whose food is it? Because they’re very different cooks.

This night, we decide to take our chances waiting for a table, and eat in the bar if need be. We settle in for a drink. Stylish sofas are aligned along a wall of wispy sheer curtains. Global sophisticates recline on Mies van der Rohe Pavillion chairs. Mysterious strangers amble around, drinks in hand, nodding to the beat. And laughter bubbles out from the sexy lounge off the bar with persimmon-colored walls and a zebra-patterned rug. I wouldn’t mind spending the evening here. Not at all. We sip wine as the bartender explains to a rapt audience of three what goes into a mojito. On one of the sofas, a local chef on her night off cozies up to her companion and nibbles on fried calamari with smoked paprika.

I see a friend in the wine business, who tells me he’s acting as the private sommelier for a function in the front terrace. A young wine collector, he says, is hosting a dinner and tasting of fabled Bordeaux and Burgundies from the thirties and forties. Just as he hands me a taste of Champagne, we luck into a table in the main dining room, one of the fab orange leather banquettes along the wall. Here, the crowd is an eclectic mix: lovers so intent on each other that they wouldn’t notice if an elephant walked by, obsessed foodies drawn by Meson G’s early buzz, festive tables of families celebrating the holidays, and septuagenarian couples dressed and coiffed to kill. It’s impossible to generalize about who’s here, which is interesting in itself.

The kitchen is getting slammed. Designer Sandy Davidson opened it to the room, with only a counter with a handful of seats separating the chefs from the guests. The cooks are working so fast, they’re a blur of motion, whirling dervishes in service of the menu. At the center of the storm is chef Greenspan, as compact as a fireplug, stepping in to taste a sauce, to subtly adjust the way a dish is plated. Early on, he’d find the time to wheel a cart with a scale into the dining room and personally weigh out white truffles for a table. No more.

Though the menu is ostensibly small plates with a Spanish influence (meson, after all, means inn in Spanish) the kitchen isn’t exactly making tapas. At least as they’re generally understood. The restaurant is channeling the avant-garde late-night Barcelona scene, which has in turn been heavily influenced by Ferran Adria’s experimental food at El Bulli. But there’s also a heavy Patina influence from Greenspan’s background that seems stronger than Aubergine’s.

I’m confused. Meson G’s menu seems more like a deconstructed tasting menu than anything else. More than forty dishes are listed, and while some would qualify as small plates, many seem more like fancy food in smaller portions. Since people order so many dishes, and usually in flights, the logistics of getting the food out has to be challenging to say the least. In any case, most of the food is truly delicious, especially the dishes that would normally fall into the first courses or appetizers category.

First of all, if you love foie gras, I’dsuggest splurging on the terrine de foie gras (one of the signature dishes at Aubergine). A pile of buttery toast arrives warm, along with a French canning jar filled with deliriously silky foie gras poached to a rosy pink right inside the jar. Dip a knife beneath the layer of fat and spread on the duck liver.

The little things

Meson G pays attention to details, like bread and butter. Miniature baguettes arrive still slightly warm, shaped like pointy-ended boats. I love the walnut rolls made with dark flour and really fresh walnuts and the perfect amount of salt to bring out the flavors. Sweet butter is served in a porcelain crock covered with a round of parchment paper inscribed with the Meson G logo. The waiter peels off the paper just as he sets it on the table.

A salad of apple-glazed shrimp tossed with ribbons of celery root, fine slices of green apple, arugula -- and for a winter touch, chestnuts -- is refined and absolutely delicious. I love the trio of plush piquillo peppers, too, lipstick red with sweet, thick flesh and stuffed with ricotta and more roasted peppers. Another dish I thought was astonishingly good was the sea urchin gratin. Basically it’s top-notch sea urchin and honshimeji mushrooms gratineed under the broiler and served with a little pungent shiso leaf.

A pureed white soup of garlic, almonds and eggplant garnished with grapes and cubes of eggplant has an interesting milky flavor. It’s an updated take on the traditional Spanish ajo blanco soup. And instead of loading on the ingredients, the risotto is an elegant and restrained composition of raw and braised celery with some unusually good Parmesan grated into it. If they get in white truffles, you can have the chef shave some over the top. They’re priced by the ounce and you buy as much or as little as you’d like.

I could easily eat an entire order of fried calamari dusted with smoked paprika and served with a gutsy aioli, the calamari are so full of flavor. Prince Edward Island mussels cooked with chorizo and sun chokes come in a marvelous broth that’s begging to be soaked up by that perfect little baguette.

Some people just don’t get the small plates concept, and end up either ordering too little or too much. The best strategy is to share everything and order in flights from the various menu categories which includes the oddball “uniquities.� Start with a few things that sound like appetizers, nibble away, passing the plates, and then order a few more dishes.

Chef Greenspan (or is it Goodell?) doesn’t seem to always get the small plates idea either. Some of the dishes seem like scaled-down versions of what Greenspan was cooking at Patina; they’re too fussy for such a small canvas. What’s wanted are focused vivid flavors. Instead, agnolotti are buried under a sea of Parmesan foam. Pink strips of soft Jidori chicken breast nestle in a carrot and chicken hash, which sits atop a puree of carrot the texture of baby food. Pork belly misses by going too uptown. The size of a child’s alphabet block, it’s crisped on all sides; gorgeous to look at, but dried out inside. The accompanying combination of sweet and sour cabbage and green apple puree with a jolt of saffron is wonderful, though.

Over the course of my visits, I notice the kitchen keeps fiddling with the menu, adding first an entree-sized New York strip steak with all the fixings, and then the note “entree sized portion [of anything, it is presumed] available upon request.�

There’s yet another option at Meson G. Instead of mixing and matching dishes, you can go for the chef’s seven-course tasting menu for $75, which doesn’t include any of the dishes on the current menu. I wish they’d put the hand-rolled fettucine with duck prosciutto and hedgehog mushrooms on, though. It’s definitely a French pasta with all that butter, but so rich, so delicious.

For a new restaurant, the wine list is wide-ranging and fascinating. Prices are generally good, and it offers something for every level of interest.

Liza Goodell has always put together small, interesting selections of cheeses. Meson G offers an intelligent selection priced at $10 for a choice of three or $18 for a choice of five. Portions are tiny, not necessarily to share, which is odd given that this is one thing that’s usually easy to share. It’s helpful that the menu includes descriptions of the choices, and the waiters are well-informed about their characteristics.

Desserts aren’t as jazzy as expected, given that both Tim and Liza Goodell have worked as pastry chefs at high-end restaurants. I do like the crema catalana (a somewhat lighter version of creme brulee) paired with a blood orange granita, but nothing else really stands out. Anyway, if you delve into the menu deeply enough, you’re not going to have much room left for dessert.

By the time we leave that night, late, people are still coming in to dinner, as if L.A. were some kind of cosmopolitan city. Imagine that.

Out on the sidewalk, I’m thrilled to note the swarm of Jude Law-types on tiny motorbikes. Their jackets bear the logo Home James, the service that drives you home in your own car. When you get there, the driver simply unfolds his Italian motorbike from the trunk and sputters home.

As we leave the party still going on at Meson G, I think about all the times I stood in front, waiting for my car, when Michel Richard was still manning the stoves at Citrus. It’s wonderful to see this place full of life again, transformed from ugly duckling to a swan once again.

*

Meson G

Rating: ** 1/2

Location: 6703 Melrose Ave., Los Angeles, (323) 525-1415

Ambience: Chic Mediterranean restaurant, bar and lounge with a smart, contemporary look that revives the old Citrus space. It’s both serious and fun with a wildly eclectic crowd that’s ready to dine till late.

Service: Professional, but relaxed and warm.

Price: Small plates, $6 to $14; entree-sized New York steak, $37 (other entree portions also available on request); desserts, $7 to $8; cheeses, $12 to $18; chef’s tasting menu, $75 per person.

Best dishes: Ajo blanco soup, stuffed piquillo peppers, risotto of celery root, fried calamari with smoked paprika, apple-glazed shrimp salad, sea urchin gratin, crema catalana.

Wine list: Wide-ranging and eclectic. Corkage, $10.

Best table: One of the orange leather banquettes.

Special features: Lounge for private parties and late night noshing.

Details: Open for lunch 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Friday; for dinner, 6 to 10 p.m. Sunday through Wednesday; and 6 to 11 p.m. Thursday through Saturday.

Rating is based on food, service and ambience, with price taken into account in relation to quality. ****: Outstanding on every level. ***: Excellent. **: Very good. *: Good. No star: Poor to satisfactory.