PRETTY PLACES TO TAKE YOUR VISITING AUNT

This is the time of year when you either go to them or they come to you. Neither is easy. Going to them means gloves and galoshes, but having them come here invariably means that somebody will get off the plane and say accusingly, “I thought it would be warmer.” It also means that when the time comes to choose that festive restaurant for the celebration of the gathering of the clan, the task will probably fall to you.

Nobody dreads this more than I do. Consider my Aunt Emily, who inevitably manages to say something about the wonderful Christmas dinner she had in Lausanne in the winter of ‘27, and notice the fact that the flowers are just a wee bit tired (and so tacky, too). Consider the Reluctant Gourmet, who’d rather be home watching the football game in the first place. Consider trying to please them both, and you see my dilemma.

In the hope of making this Christmas as peaceful as possible, I spent the past few weeks searching for the perfect place to have a holiday meal. The requirements were simple: a pretty, quiet, restful, charming, romantic restaurant . . . that serves great food.

L’Orangerie was my first stop. Aunt Emily, I felt immediately, would approve. Crossing the threshold is like walking into the 18th Century; the light is so golden and lovely, you can barely believe that it is electric. Music, flowers, perfume . . . there is such an air about the place that it is easy to imagine the waiters doing a minuet. “But why do I feel that my tie is crooked?” asked the Reluctant Gourmet, tugging at his neck.

It is all quite grand. “I can hardly believe I’m in California” is what Aunt Emily would say, and coming from her that’s a compliment. In fact, the menu is so French that Aunt Emily would probably feel disoriented. The appetizers include French classics like eggs scrambled with caviar, put back into their shells and served in little egg cups. The salads are extraordinary (my favorite continues to be the curly endive served with thick chunks of bacon and beautifully poached eggs). Aunt Emily, unlike the R.G., would probably not sit there muttering about the fact that most of the appetizers are in the $15 range, while most of the desserts hover around $9. “This is seriously expensive,” said the R.G. “But of course” is what Aunt Emily would say.

But even the R.G. admitted that his fish was the tastiest piece of lotte he had ever eaten. “And,” he added, “at $30, it should be. Even if it does come with these nice Japanese eggplant and noodles so thin you could read through them.” My own lamb in curry sauce was less expensive--and less impressive. A very tender young rack of lamb was combined with some overcooked, slightly tough lamb. It made me wish that I had ordered one of my favorite dishes--the poulet a la vapeur, a simple steam-cooked chicken in shallot butter that is like French nursery food. I decided that it might be just the thing for Aunt Emily--followed by the restaurant’s justly famous hot apple tart.

“The thing I don’t like about places like this,” said the R.G., “is that I invariably feel as if my hands are dirty, and I keep looking around to see if they are about to throw me out. I know your Aunt Emily would like it--but can’t we find some place a bit cosier?”

L’Orangerie, 903 N. La Cienega Blvd., Los Angeles, (213) 652-9770. Open for dinner daily. All major credit cards accepted. Full bar. Valet parking. Dinner for two, food only, $80-$110.

Le Chardonnay is another step back in time, but it is less of a leap. We’re in the 19th Century now, in a reproduction of a Belle Epoque bistro so faithful that it is startling to see people dressed in modern clothes. With its rosewood paneling, its mirrors, its brass fittings and its leaping lights, Le Chardonnay is like the setting for an operetta. But the waiters bustle with the understated brusqueness of any good garcon , and the R.G. felt instantly at home. “Now this,” he said, “is more like it.”

But would Aunt Emily approve? I imagine her sitting in the room and harrumphing slightly. The menu is more California than France--salads come with arugula, mache, limestone lettuce and local goat cheese (Aunt Emily would shake her head), tortelloni are filled with snails, and a spit-roasted duck is basted with soy and ginger. And while the R.G. loved the French fries that came with the spit-roasted chicken, Aunt Emily would consider it another sign of the decline of Western civilization.

“I think it’s a perfectly wonderful place to come at Christmastime,” said the R.G. “It’s warm and friendly and filled with high spirits.” He liked the simplicity of the food, liked the way they let us linger over our chocolate cake and creme brulee , but when a group of people walked out laughing loudly, even he was willing to admit, despite the restaurant’s beauty, that it might not be quite the thing for Aunt Emily.

Le Chardonnay, 8284 Melrose Ave . , L.A. (213) 655-8880. Open for lunch Monday-Friday, for dinner Monday-Saturday. All major credit cards accepted. Full bar. Valet parking. Dinner for two, food only, about $65.

When I suggested the Hotel Bel-Air, the R.G. groaned. “It’s so stuffy!” he said. I reminded him that he had never been there. “Well, I’m sure it will be,” he insisted. He was so sure he wouldn’t like it that he refused to be charmed by the beauty of the place; walking across the little stone bridge, he barely glanced down at the green-headed ducks or the picturesque swans floating regally on the water. The air was fresh and cold and smelled like smoke and pine, as if we had somehow made a wrong turn and ended up in the forest.

After the crisp air, the dining room was warm and soft and pretty--all tones of peach, the walls lined with tasteful prints. The tables were covered with daintily flowered plates and decorated with a single tulip in a vase. The chairs were comfortable, sounds were muffled. “Ah,” said the R.G. sarcastically. “Civilization.”

But then he looked at the menu. It is a shock. “I want to eat everything,” he cried, reading off a list of appetizers that includes rabbit sausage with homemade mustard, sweetbread and ginger egg rolls, sauteed goose liver with blackberry chutney and grilled asparagus and shiitake mushrooms served in a raspberry vinaigrette. Just then the waiter brought a dish to the next table, and the spicy smell of cumin came floating across the richly perfumed air to us; it seemed incongruous in these surroundings, but it smelled fabulous. “Whatever that is,” said the R.G., “I want.” It turned out to be “tortilla soup”--a bowl of rich, thick, fragrant red soup topped with cilantro, chunks of avocado, pieces of chicken, Cheddar cheese and little strips of crisply fried tortillas. The flavors resonated in the mouth long after each bite was swallowed; eating it was an enormously satisfying experience.

Equally aromatic--and equally surprising--was the rare grilled tuna served with a very spicy coconut curry. The menu is filled with original ideas. Salmon comes grilled with garlic cream, buckwheat linguine and caviar. A salad combines sweetbreads, foie gras , corn, walnuts and mint. Duck breast is roasted Peking style and served on the bone, the skin perfectly crisp, with grilled scallions and a sort of plummy chutney; the plate is a medley of almost purple browns, both beautiful and elegant. Even the vegetable side dishes are interesting: white beans with roasted peppers, garlic and herbs or noodles with beet greens, spinach and sun-dried tomatoes.

None of this, of course, would entice Aunt Emily, but she’d be happy here, too. She could begin with cracked crab, or caviar, or perhaps the tiniest Maine lobster, steamed whole, taken out of the shell and served in a bright green, olivey herb dressing. She’d be pleased with the rack of lamb, or the filet of beef, or very good grilled chicken--and she could order a dish of sweet peas and mashed potatoes on the side. Innovative though he may be, chef Joseph Venezia has been careful to include some very unfrightening food; almost anybody would find something to please them on this menu.

The service is equally pleasing. Aunt Emily always says that good service is the kind that makes you feel well-dressed, even if you aren’t. I noticed that the R.G. didn’t once tug at his tie and, at the end of the evening, he did not make a single snide remark about how expensive the restaurant is. All he wanted to know was how soon Aunt Emily was likely to arrive.

The Hotel Bel-Air, 701 Stone Canyon Road, Bel-Air, (213) 472-1211. Open for breakfast, lunch and dinner daily. All major credit cards accepted. Full bar. Valet parking. Dinner for two, food only, $60-$110.