PACIOCCO’S SETS ITS STYLE THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY

Paciocco’s, 1807 Wilshire Blvd., Santa Monica. Open Tuesday-Thursday and Sunday, 5 to 11 p.m.; Friday-Saturday, 5 p.m. to midnight. Accepts all major credit cards. Valet parking on Wilshire. Reservations advised: (213) 453-8989. Dinner for two: $35 to $70 (food only). Paciocco’s is--or will be--its own measure of a restaurant, an almost old-fashioned approach, but one we have not seen for so long it seems new. There is no apparent intention of becoming the latest “in” place for the foodies.

It is Italian but does not look Italian. Colors are soft shades of mauve, pink, white and gray set into a nice sweep of space with a separate bar area and uncrowded tables.

Dramatic flower arrangements are echoed by single flowers on the tables.

And it is quiet. Blessedly quiet. People can meet for dinner and talk to each other. Remember talking? There is music, but it is the calming music of the ‘40s.

The name may be recognized and then doubted. Lou Paciocco, the reigning king--queen?--of La Cage aux Folles, is half owner with his brother-in-law, Zippy Russo, but of Follerie there is none in this quietly handsome place.

“We almost called it Zippy’s,” said Zippy, whose real name is Armando. (Any foreigner was a Zip in New York in 1942, when Armando’s father brought his family from Calabria and set up a restaurant in the Bronx.)

“It combines Lou’s insignia with my background.”

They begin carefully. The entrance to the restaurant is through a small courtyard with a bank prominent in the foreground so, although they are not hidden, they are not conspicuous. They like being on the West Side and are grateful for the unobtrusiveness, preferring to begin with a trickle of customers rather than a flood.

“It gives us time to adjust and mature,” Russo said. “Any restaurant has problems in the beginning. We opened a place in Westchester once, and hung a sign in the window saying we were not open for business.”

Russo is the active manager, feeling his way into California habits, finding purveyors, learning to cope with our kind of young waiters, arranging for things to be sent from New York that he can’t find here--or does not approve of here.

He has curds flown in to make his own mozzarella. Bufala? No. It comes from New York, but whatever the difference, it makes very good mozzarella. He likes it rolled around prosciutto. He also imports ricotta impastata, with moisture removed--if I understand correctly--which is important for a proper cannoli, he says. He would like to be able to make his own pastry. His father was a pastry chef, and one of the early ventures in the Bronx was a pastry shop.

The nicely sized menu lists so many small dishes--34 selections of aperitivi gastromici and antipasti with 13 pasta, as opposed to 15 principal dishes--it seemed there had been some influence from our current enthusiasm for “grazing.”

No, said Russo. It is traditional cooking from all parts of Italy, uninfluenced by any of the new thinkers, either there or here.

“Their positives are not legitimate positives.”

The chef is Luigi Bruno Cavalli, from Alba, who was executive chef on the Italian Line. Russo admires him for his ability to create harmony in the kitchen--a peaceful kitchen is greatly to be desired--but he reserves final decisions for himself.

“What pleases my taste buds will please most people,” he says.

I wish I could say this all meant blissful eating, but bliss is not quite yet, although the prognosis is favorable. The mozzarella, for instance, was fine, served simply with fresh basil, tomatoes and olive oil. On the other hand, the smoked breast of goose was an unappealing pile of dry splinters with not enough basil in the dressing to rescue it.

There was good bresaola, nicely presented with segments of fresh grapefruit and fat spirals of parmigiana, but the prosciutto was dark and heavy, wrapped around a fat palm heart and laid on a thick piece of toasted bread spread with Gorgonzola cheese, an alliance that was never meant to be.

The bread, incidentally, is excellent, and the butter is sweet. A bread salad (panzanella originale) was unusual and interesting, with big chunks of bread, hard-boiled eggs, lots of greens, and a bright dressing. But there was no excuse for the mussels. They were simply not there. Nothing but a few sinewy strands.

Pastas, made there, were generally good, but rich and, well, solid; a little was enough. The best of our experience was probably the tagliolini primavera. It was rich with cream, grana, peas and ham, but the thin pasta made it lighter than, for example, the fettuccine al mascarpone, which was very rich indeed.

A special one night--spaghetti with grappa--was notable for the grappa and the quality of the spaghetti, but a little sweetness had crept in, again making it quickly surfeiting. On another occasion, the special was green fettuccine with dried chanterelles. That was simply gloomy and gritty.

In spite of the disclaimer, it is easy to build a dinner of small things, and I found myself wanting to go no further than a couple of appetizers and a pasta.

However, for the record--the chicken breast is nicely prepared with spinach, parmigiana and cream, a good combining of textures and flavors. The veal chop is fine. Swordfish, one night’s fish-of-the-day, was well handled, sauteed with three peppers, making a pretty dish. There are specials for each of the various menu categories. Vegetables tended to baby carrots and pea pods. I would have liked the carrots cooked just a bit longer.

There are gelati and cakes for dessert, mostly cheesecake in several different versions, but also a fine, rich chocolate mousse cake. The selection of Italian wines is careful, albeit just a bit pricey. Service is pleasantly inconsistent.

Obviously, they are not quite in gear at Paciocco’s.

Nevertheless, my feeling is that it only needs a little adjusting, some synchronizing of taste buds, a sort of easing into Los Angeles. The menu is not daring or original, but neither is it trite. They are not yet steady on course, but there is a sense of professionals at work.

I like this restaurant. I like the individuality, the independence, the refusal to follow the trends. I like the thinking.

There will be dancing within the next week or two, what is now being called touch dancing as opposed to that strenuous other. People can dance during or after dinner, or stop by on their way home for a drink and a waltz.

“Music low, lights low. People together. . .,” Russo said dreamily. We do not have many places for that.

He created the orchestra. The pianist is a USC professor, the bass player is an old-timer from the big bands, the vibe player just came along. It is a first job for the singer, Chris Ford.

“Just a home-made, put-together job,” Russo says. They call themselves Contempo West.

He has other plans. A Sunday family dinner, for instance. Casual. Bring the kids. Who cares if they are a little noisy? It’s nice to have somewhere to go on Sunday.

“We just want to have a basic, comfortable place. We want people to like us for what we are.”

I think they will.