AT MADEO, THE SIMPLER THE BETTER

Madeo, 8897 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, (213) 859-4903. Open for lunch Monday-Friday, for dinner Monday-Saturday. Full bar. Valet parking. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $40-$80.

“Count me out on Monday nights,” the Reluctant Gourmet announced a couple of weeks ago, making it clear that if it comes to a choice between food and football, food will always lose. His idea of a wonderful time is to sit screaming at the television set, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. He doesn’t even care if the pizza is fresh or frozen.

But the pizza part is important. I’ve found that when trying to lure him into a restaurant (on non-Monday nights, of course), pizza is good bait. With the promise of pizza in the offing, the RG has even been known to smile while putting on a suit. So when I heard that the many-monikered Madeo (more about that later) had remodeled and put in wood-burning ovens, I suggested that he might like to join me there. “It’s owned by the same man who owns Il Giardino and Pane Caldo,” I urged, “and you liked them.” The RG looked skeptical. “Gourmet pizza,” he sniffed. But he said yes.

“I knew I didn’t really have to wear a suit” were the first words the RG uttered when we walked into the restaurant, looking enviously at the one man in the room who was not sporting a jacket. I hardly glanced in his direction; I was busy trying to figure out what the decorator had done to make this formerly dark restaurant look so much livelier. They’ve covered all the banquettes in white-striped fabric, given the walls a brighter coat, and enthroned two tile-fronted ovens in the front room; the merry fires contribute a cheerful glow. “Isn’t it pretty?” I was saying as our friend the Sports Fan walked down the stairs to join us for dinner. “It’s pretty,” he said, “but it’s still a basement.” He began claustrophobicly searching for an exit.

A basement it may be, but there is nothing cramped about the restaurant’s style. This place has had a checkered history: It used to be Ryan’s Place, then under the current owners it was briefly Boboli. Now they have made a serious effort to bring it up from the underground doldrums. These days the tables are spacious, and so long as you are not seated at the deuces along the wall, widely spaced. This is not the place to eavesdrop on your neighbor’s conversation. On our first dinner there, in fact, we were at a table so large we actually found ourselves hollering across it.

And the first holler was one of sheer delight. “Taste these,” we all said as we simultaneously juggled hot little puffs of herb-sprinkled deep-fried bread. They were absolutely irresistible. The little pizzette-- flat breads just out of the oven--were fine too, but being baked instead of fried, they lacked the added aura of sin.

Bread in hand, we settled in to peruse the menus and the wine lists. The latter is not an inspiring document. “Isn’t this that stuff you buy by the case?” asked the RG, pointing to a Chianti--a very nice Chianti--which I buy for under $4 and they sell for $18. In fact, one of the best bargains on the list is a $45 wine, the Gaja Barbaresco, which is selling for a mere three times retail.

“Give me that wine and this pizza,” said the Sports Fan, taking a bite out of a crisp pie gorgeously covered with Gorgonzola, “and I’m a happy man.”

“Forget the wine,” said the RG, taking another slice of the pie. “This is delicious.” He gave the pie an approving glance--clearly appreciating the fact that this was not one of those precious little pizzas that barely feeds a single person. He took a third slice and said, “Why, I probably would have trouble eating a whole one by myself.” It occurred to me that these light, crusty pizzas, which average around $8, are rather a bargain.

They are, in fact, the only bargains on the menu. Most of the dishes here can create a serious deficit in your bank account. Take that carpaccio the RG was devouring: It was thickly cut, delicious meat; it was covered with artichoke hearts and Parmesan cheese. He was happy, but I was paying and it was $16.

Take the spaghettini with lobster sauce. Our waiter brought out a large platter of pasta beautifully embellished with a half lobster. He proudly presented the dish, then conscientiously took the meat out of the shell. “What a lot of fuss,” said the RG--and that was before he tasted it. “Overcooked,” he said after he had. “Fourteen dollars is a lot of money for half an overcooked lobster on top of a few strings of spaghetti. I’m glad you’re the one who ordered it.”

The Sports Fan was not having much better luck. “Have the veal-filled ravioli with walnut sauce,” I had urged him. “They were delicious the last time I was here.” And they had been--light pockets of airy meat in a fine, pungent sauce. How was I to know that this time they would prove to be clunky little lumps in an unattractively grainy sauce?

The dinner dishes were equally uneven, although you wouldn’t know it from talking to the RG, who ordered the best dish in the house and then grudgingly shared it. When owner Bruno Vietina came around wheeling an elaborate silver cart that opened to show a haunch of veal, its skin appealingly brown and crispy, the RG quickly said, “That’s for me.” And as he ate the thoroughly cooked, extremely flavorful meat and the small rosemary-sprinkled potatoes, he looked entirely happy. “Good, simple food,” he said contentedly.

The Sports Fan also ordered an uncomplicated dish--a large piece of sea bass that had been cooked on the floor of the beehive oven. Crusty on both sides, the flesh itself was moist and tender. The fish came simply adorned with half a lemon and a mountain of peppery spinach. They both looked smug and happy as I struggled with scampi con fagioli , a pallid dish, all white on white, of tasteless beans and anemic, overcooked shrimp. “Looks awful,” was the RG’s brief comment. It tasted that way too.

When the dessert cart came rolling past, both men quickly said they were much too full to be interested in tiramisu or ricotta cheese cake or a fruit tart that looked like an Easter bonnet. Lucky for them, for all those desserts look better than they taste. “If I were still hungry,” said the RG, “I think I’d just order another pizza.”

Return visits proved much the same. All the breads and pizzas and crostini were excellent. At lunchtime, the antipasto table is filled with a delightful array of marinated vegetables and salads and the like. But pasta dishes were sometimes extraordinarily salty. The one time I had risotto it resembled a very tasty soup, and a plate of shrimp in a remarkable sauce of orange and sage (a brilliant combination) was ruined by the toughness of the shrimp. On another occasion, the chef got so carried away with peppers that virtually everything--from spinach to spaghetti--was hot and spicy.

“But I’d gladly go back for some more of that roast veal,” said the Reluctant Gourmet (in fact, the simple dishes that come from those ovens are universally delicious), “and I’ll eat their pizza any day of the week.” Then he reconsidered. “Well, almost any day,” he said.