ORANGE COUNTY STYLE : THE PLEASURE OF THEIR COMPANY : A report on five convivial hosts whose stylized events have helped put Orange County on the map as one of the nation’s upbeat, upscale scenes for entertaining

New York throws glitzy, anonymous bashes in downtown clubs and uptown town houses. Los Angeles fusses over blue books and A-list celebrity guests. But Orange County entertains with a different style.

Here, party givers take advantage of the area’s natural resources--rich ranchlands, vast waterways and easy-going people--to hold gatherings with a friendly, intimate atmosphere, even when the guests number in the hundreds.

Unencumbered by Old World etiquette, such parties are un-neurotic, wide-eyed, nouveau--and fun. They’re stylized events that have put Orange County on the map as one of the nation’s upbeat, upscale party scenes.

Five convivial hosts who are helping to establish the area’s reputation for entertaining are land heiress Joan Irvine Smith--who for the past two years has given a fete champetre on her oak-studded San Juan Capistrano ranch; Len and Mary Ann Miller--a Gatsby-esque Newport Beach couple who are building a reputation for theme cruises on Newport Bay; conductor Micah Levy--who prepares gourmet Chinese dinners for friends in their homes, and Neven Hulsey--an executive who infuses business with pleasure in his firm’s Anaheim Stadium suite.

Combining pomp with casual outdoor fun is a lavish luncheon co-hosted by Joan Irvine Smith and her mother, Athalie Clark, on the final day of the Oaks Classic equestrian competition at her ranch.

“The only thing that can ruin the party is rain,” says Smith, whose grandfather founded the mammoth Irvine Co. “Everything else is under control.”

And indeed it is, from valet parking to the champagne toast saluting the winner of the $50,000 Grand Prix purse.

Smith’s posh springtime event rivals England’s Ascot for elegance and grace. Upon entering the grounds of The Oaks, her 20-acre ranch, 900 richly attired guests who pay $100 each to feast and watch the horses jump are serenaded by jazz piped over a public-address system.

Emerald green Astro Turf is rolled out to control the ranch dust, and white tables and chairs are set up under a block-long white canopy. Electric fans cool sun-warmed brows.

Open bars pepper the country landscape, as do pots of ruby-red geraniums, hibiscus and bougainvillea. Oils by artist Maria del Carmen Calvo add slashes of color to canopy walls.

But it’s the food--redolent and glamorously arrayed--that gets the Sunday set sighing as they queue up for an eclectic buffet offering everything from Old California cuisine and baron of beef to fix-your-own-sundaes--all perfectly presented on snow-white china.

Smith says her party giving, now infrequent, always begins with congenial people and the best food and drink. “It doesn’t always have to be caviar and champagne,” she says. “Hamburgers will do; but they’d better be the best hamburgers.”

Never mind the debonair bartender they hire, the one who used to pour at Sardi’s in New York. Never mind the three-story house with the Art Deco bar and step-up, rooftop Jacuzzi. And never mind the 51-foot Bayliner that waits, squeaky clean, at the end of the 50-foot dock. These are merely accouterments.

For Len and Mary Ann Miller of Newport Beach, a bash makes no splash without a theme.

While the rest of Newport’s yacht set simply cruises along sun-dappled Newport Bay, the Millers transform their living room and yacht into a circus atmosphere in the name of fun. Forty friends--some in circus costume--sip bubbly, Perrier on Mary Ann’s favorite: “a tummy soother that combines Kahlua, brandy and low-fat milk.”

The Miller have dubbed the party “Brodie & Brodie--Circus Afloat,” after special guests Sandra and Dr. Jerry Brodie of Tustin. The Brodies won the opportunity to be feted by the Millers whey they bid $1,500 for the party at a charity benefit earlier this year. “Len and I frequently put a party up for bid,” says Mary Ann Miller. “It’s one of the ways we try to help.”

Moments before the expected first knock at the door, the Millers turn on a tape of calliope music and change into their rented circus-star costumes: Mary Ann becomes a trapeze artist in a whirling black-satin cape, and Len, an insurance broker, becomes a lion tamer with a whip.

The Brodies arrive in ringmaster get-ups. Betty Belden, a friend, shows up as a snack hawker with a makeshift paper tray loaded with bags of popcorn. “My favorite food,” she says, offering her host a handful.

Those interested in more than popcorn serve themselves from a table whose centerpiece features silk flowers and boxes of animal crackers. Sushi, caviar pie, lox and bagels, baby ribs, stuffed pea pods and other treats abound.

At sunset, guests descend the stairs from the living room and move out to the dock. Before boarding LaMour for a cruise, they poke their heads through a circus board painted with flexing muscle men to pose for souvenir Polaroid photos. As they board the yacht, party goers are greeted by a larger-than-life stuffed clown.

Among other Miller theme parties: “A Clan of the Cave Bear” dinner, for which invitations were tied to dried soup bones, and “School Days,” whose invitations were scrawled in crayon. Guests ate sack lunches stuffed with peanut-butter-and-jelly or bologna sandwiches and Twinkies. Splits of champagne were served with straws, and water pistols were handed out for a “fight” on the yacht at sunset.

The Millers stage get-togethers almost weekly. And while not all of their celebrations have themes--some are simple after-tennis events--they’re all important to the hosts.

“The secret to doing a good job is good help and organization,” Len says. “I hate parties where you have to wait in line for food and drink.”

Mary Ann adds: “We like to go all out, have a bit of a spectacle. People like to have something to talk about, now, don’t they?”

‘Only 29 minutes until the rice is ready,” announces Micah Levy to his dinner guests as he presides over his tried-and-true wok.

Levy, conductor of the Orange County Chamber Orchestra and bachelor-about-town, is preparing a gourmet Chinese dinner in the home of Corki and Vic Shneider in lofty Cowan Heights. Preparation of the meal has occupied the greater part of the day for Levy, 34, who has gained a reputation for Chinese cooking by serving candlelight-and-chopsticks dinners in the homes of orchestra supporters.

Tonight he has invited the Shneiders, Cynthia Selby and Chris Moore to dine vegetarian, his preferred fare.

Included on Levy’s menu are 10 fragrant vegetables; walnuts and peppers in sweet and sour sauce, pan-fried noodles, steamed eggplant and his own Maestro’s Tofu, a garlic-laced melange of soybean curd, scallions and forest mushrooms.

To prepare for the party, Levy, who learned Chinese cooking from reading books, left his digs in Carbon Canyon and checked in at the Shneiders’ about noon, carrying bags of vegetables, his favorite cleaver and assorted seasonings and oils.

Moving busily about the blue-edged French country kitchen, he begins to julienne carrots, celery, bok choy and broccoli. So that he can spend some time unruffled at the dinner table, his menu will alternate courses prepared ahead for serving at room temperature with other that will be scooped, sizzling, from the wok.

As Levy begins to saute the vegetables, the smell of sesame and peanut oils hovers in the kitchen. Except for the sizzle, there is no noise, not even background music. “I can’t listen to music when I cook,” Levy explains to guests who’ve gathered in the kitchen to watch the proceedings. “Being a conductor, I’d start listening and forget to stir.”

Once seated, he wields chopsticks as confidently as he would a baton. But Levy waits to see the others’ reaction to his first culinary opus. Once they express their delight, he bites contentedly into a sweet-and-sour pepper.

“Music may be a deeper expression of the soul,” he says, “but conducting and cooking are both potent forms of expression.”

The deluxe Anaheim Stadium suite leased for $76,000 per year by the Kilsby-Roberts Co. sits above the 50-yard-line with full visual command of the field through a 30-foot expanse of spotless glass.

“The ultimate combination of business and pleasure,” Neven Hulsey, president of the Brea-based, steel-tubing-distribution firm, says of the suite. “It’s our way of entertaining while making stadium events easy on our business associates.”

About 100 times a year guests of the firm party in the double-sized, 368-square-foot space during sporting events and concerts. Next door is another of the most luxurious of the stadium’s 113 suites: the two-story, Jacuzzi-equipped entertaining quarters of L.A. Rams owner Georgia Frontiere.

“With a suite, everyone is relaxed,” Hulsey says, “because no one has to fight crowds for food and drink. And we all get a chance to become better acquainted, build friendships.”

Hulsey says the gatherings are intentionally low-key--with no floral arrangements or fancy food--to keep attention on the action in the field and on the camaraderie. For guests who would rather cheer with the stadium crowd, the firm has reserved seats that are located next to the suite.

Guests dress casually for get-togethers in the two-sofa, three-television appointed suite. They munch on chips and sip vodka martinis (spiced by jalapeno-stuffed olives) from glasses that sport the Kilsby-Roberts logo. A help-yourself fridge stocks drinks, and warmers hold oversize, stadium-catered hot dogs, pizza slices, spicy chili, chicken and submarine sandwiches--all served on paper plates. One night, a dreamy chocolate Mandarin cheesecake was dished up as “a seventh-inning dessert.”

Hulsey’s wife Nancy, an elementary school teacher in Irvine, appreciates the ease of entertaining in the suite. “It’s comfortable and friendly,” she says. “It’s like being in your own living room inside a huge stadium.”