MADRID’S FORMIDABLE TRINITY OF FINE DINING

El Amparo, Jockey and Zalacain are the Holy Trinity of fine dining in this city. And that, of course, to the average Madrileno, means in the world.

But Madrid is funny: It’s a sort of closed system, self-referential and enormously self-proud--perhaps the only major capital in the world that has the sheer nerve to be drop-dead sophisticated without hardly being cosmopolitan at all. So just what does it mean, then, to all of us poor, benighted non-Madrilenos to say that the aforementioned three establishments are the city’s best? How good is that? By our own standards--or, for that matter, by the standards of the rest of Spain or of nearby France--just how good are these places?

That’s what I tried to find out recently when I visited this formidable trio of eating places for myself--and I must say that my reaction, superficially derived though it may be, was that two of these restaurants are very good indeed, and that the third, well, has its charms.

That third is El Amparo. It is, to begin with, the most contemporary in style of the three, and the most obviously influenced by the (if you’ll pardon the expression) nouvelle French kitchen. It’s a terrific-looking place--small, three-tiered, built around a rustic little atrium with plenty of exposed wood beams, furnished with chairs cloaked in pink bed linen and tables illuminated with soft, deep-yellow light. The service is thoughtful and attentive. All the accouterments are in good supply--excellent Spanish wines, a formidable list of the best Cuban cigars, an impressive, mostly Spanish cheese tray, and so on. The only trouble is that the food sometimes seems to miss the mark.

An appetizer of baby asparagus and barely cooked, thinly sliced salmon glazed with a sauce mousseline one evening, for instance, was more an arrangement of elements than a dish; nothing fused the fish and vegetable. A main dish of sauteed rabbit livers, big and sweet, shaped over a delicate onion mousse, was much better, but like a beginning French student who knows that there ought to be some accent marks in there somewhere but isn’t quite sure which ones, chef Ramon Ramirez had jarringly scattered cool, sour raspberries and blueberries over the plate. On the other hand, I could find no fault at all with a feuillete of sweetbreads with truffles and wild mushroom mousse. (One Spanish critic has written that Ramirez’s feuilletes are so extraordinary that they must be divine, not human, in origin. I know what he meant.) And homemade prune and honey ice creams, the latter with a fresh (and not sour) raspberry puree, left a very good taste in our mouths.

El Amparo, Callejon de Puigcerda, 8, at the corner of Jorge Juan, 10; telephone 431-6456. About $70-$85 for two, including wine.

Jockey--which is not, incidentally, called “ the Jockey,” much less “the Jockey Club “--is another thing entirely. It’s sort of the Chasen’s of Madrid, clubby and cozy but quite rarefied in atmosphere. It’s the kind of place where men tend to wear dark suits and women favor dresses that probably cost enough to feed a family of four for a year or so--though not, of course, to feed them here. Much of the clientele is American and the entire service team speaks English.

And what a service team it is. While meals are being presented here, the aisles between the booths and tables are clogged with waiters, captains and the rest--taking orders, anticipating orders, serving, pouring, boning, flaming, clearing spent plates. This is orchestration of service on an almost philharmonic scale.

The menu is large and offers classic French dishes, traditional Spanish specialties, some contemporary-sounding creations and a number of items that can only be described as continental. Everything here seems opulent, solid and beautifully prepared--perfectly cooked boneless wild quail in a pleasantly acidic aspic with fresh thyme; warm smoked eel in parsley cream sauce or cold smoked eel pate with sauce mousseline (the great basic French sauces being more honored in Spain today, I sometimes think, than in their native land); a no-nonsense dish of old-fashioned roast duck with yellow figs in a rich game sauce (with the successful but unexpected--in a European country--accompaniment of fresh pale yellow corn); a feuillete --as good as El Amparo’s--of flawless sea bass in an intense crayfish sauce with crushed pistachios; an elegant cream tart with hot chocolate sauce. . . .

There is an extraordinary wine list with both French and Spanish vintages listed. There is also a list of after-dinner alcohols, from which I chose a locally made aguardiente de moras --blackberry eau-de-vie . This caused something of a stir, as the sommelier could not remember ever having seen it. I insisted, and he went off to track a bottle down. He returned with a tall, hand-blown flask bearing a hand-written ID label reading “Made for Jockey” (dated 1963), the cork still sealed. He opened and poured it for me proudly, as if to say “Look what Jockey can offer!” It was wonderful stuff, full of fruit and fire--and, I thought, as smooth and serious and debonair as Jockey itself.

Jockey, Amador de los Rios, 6; telephone 419-1003. About $75-$90 for two, including wine.

The service is very good at Zalacain, too, but it seems best when your table is momentarily the center of attention (i.e., during the ordering and presentation of your dinner), and tends to fade a bit later in the evening. The food, though, is superb--as good as Jockey’s and maybe even better. The guidebooks certainly seem to think so: Michelin gives the place three stars in its 1987 edition, making it the first restaurant in Spain to be so honored. (Jockey has only one star, El Amparo rates two in Michelin’s opinion.) And Spain’s own highly regarded “Gourmetour” guide gives Zalacain its sole 9.5/10 rating in all of the country.

A first hint of the kitchen’s absolute mastery comes with the first complimentary plate-teaser that is brought to diners once they are seated in the warm, formal but homey, soft-orange dining room: It is simply a plate of shredded carrot salad--as plain a thing as could be imagined. But the carrots themselves taste like the essence of carrot, and the light, almost elusive vinaigrette with which the dish is dressed is a marvel. It takes a brave--and, I would argue, supremely self-confident--kitchen to serve something like this in these surroundings, but it is somehow exactly the right thing to serve.

A second gratis appetizer changes gears--very fresh, barely cooked little shrimp deep-fried in a thick, delicious breading. Then comes the real stuff, from an ample and imaginative menu--a dazzling salad of sliced giant cepe mushrooms and big shreds of moist partridge breast with baby red-leaf lettuce, spinach and a peppering of truffle bits; a rich but subtle cold cream of wild mushroom soup; a light ragout of juicy pheasant breast with the surprising sweetness of bits of boneless pigs’ feet added; wild duck breast, thinly sliced and rare, in a simple duck-stock reduction with extremely flavorful little carrots and onions; a serious homemade praline ice cream served with an immense but delicate almond tuile --literally the size of the roof tiles for which it is named.

And again, of course, the drinks and smokes are top-of-the-line. (Special mention must be made of a 1970 Monte Real Rioja, priced here at about $30 a bottle, that was a match for a lot of big-name ’70 bordeaux I’ve had in recent years.)

Zalacain, Alvarez de Baena, 4, telephone 261-4840. About $100-$125 for two, including wine.