LOTS OF LEFTOVERS : 1986: Year of the Search for Divine Heavenly Grits

When my brother was very young, he was taken to dinner at a very fancy New York restaurant. He was on his best behavior. At the end of the meal, the waiter creased his tuxedo to bend down and ask him how he had liked it. My brother looked up, eyes shining. “Oh,” he squeaked, “it was simply divine.” The waiter drew himself up very tall, looked down at my brother and intoned, “Sir, food is never divine.”

1986 is the year when everybody seemed to forget that. You heard constant chatter about “divine” dishes, and people in Los Angeles went rushing from restaurant to restaurant as if they were undertaking a holy mission. Diners didn’t just go out to eat; they went out to find a little bit of heaven. Chefs become high priests of this new religion, and their words were quoted as if they had been written on the wind.

It was a year of less liquor, more iced tea, free-range chicken and smoked food. It was the year of “Let me just have a little taste of your dish.” It was the year that herbs (especially chervil and fennel) moved onto center stage. It was, above all, the year of restaurants to go: When you couldn’t go out, they delivered--in more ways than one. The chefs flooded the bookstores with their cookbooks: Wolfgang Puck (Spago) came out with one. So did John Sedlar (St. Estephe), Andre Patout (Patout’s) and Nancy Silverton (Spago). Michael Roberts (Trumps) is working on his tome.

And yet, for all the hoopla, it was not a year of great innovation. Newcomers like Celestino, Silvio’s, Nicky Blair’s, Columbia Bar & Grill, the Hollywood Diner and Patout’s--unlike the trend-setting Primi and City Restaurant of the year before--broke very little new ground. We were getting back to our roots and American became a buzzword. Regional was another: The most exciting new development was our increasing respect for our local Latin resources. Rebecca’s, the Sonora Cafe, Sabroso and Cha, Cha, Cha are all examples of this trend. Not a single major new French restaurant opened, and one of the best--Max au Triangle--closed.

When people asked “What’s new?” (and they did so constantly), the answer was “not much.” For a town that has driven chefs mad with its insatiable appetite for novel tastes and up-to-the-minute food fashions, this is probably a good thing. “I moved to Seattle last year,” said one formerly local chef, “because there was too much pressure in L.A. You have to practically think up a whole new cuisine every six months--and then it goes out of style.” Well, we are finally learning to chew more slowly, to savor our food. Los Angeles is still a hungry city, but our appetites have become less restless.

And so this year I did not ask our reviewers to choose their favorite new restaurants. In the spirit of 1986, I simply asked them which restaurants they like the best--where they go when they spend their own money. I think you’ll find the results surprising.

In my own case, I have to admit that it depends upon the occasion. If money is no object and I am feeling truly indulgent, I go to Valentino in Santa Monica. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen often enough. For somewhat more modest celebrations, I usually go to Spago, which always feels like a party. Banquets at the Beverly Hills Mandarin have been consistently delicious. For friends in from out of town, I’m proud to show off City Restaurant. But in real life I devour tacos at Yuca’s, pasta at Angeli, sushi at Katsu. When I’m at the office, and I have the time, nothing makes me happier than a plate of the incredible dumplings at Chinatown’s Mandarin Deli.

But then, all of these places give me enormous satisfaction--and not one of them serves a single dish that I would call divine.