RESTAURANTS : The Pleasures and the Perils of Camelions

In the end they chose Molly Kate.

Sarah Katherine came in second. But not until every other combination of names had been thoroughly explored. This was followed by a discussion of suitable colleges (we thought they were jumping the gun) and preceded by a discourse on whether the expectant mother should be allowed a sip of wine.

The people at the next table were having a baby. And the grandparents-to-be were feting the family. They were clearly having a wonderful time.

Meanwhile, we weren’t. Our little table was squeezed into a corner next to theirs and, unable to communicate because of the noisiness of the close quarters, we found ourselves captives of their conversation.

It is one of the dangers of dining at Camelions. Under the right circumstances this charmingly eccentric little complex can be the most romantic restaurant in town-- and one of the best. But under other conditions, eating here is like enduring dinner with your least favorite aunt.

The arrangement of the rooms has something to do with it. The building, an architectural landmark built by John Byers in 1923, is actually a set of little buildings that rambles across three separate courtyards. All are charming and rustic, like something you might happen upon while strolling through the Cotswalds, but each building and courtyard has its own distinct character. The maitre d’ who manages this seating nightmare is a marvel of patience; he genuinely seems eager to seat you where you want to be. This isn’t always easy.

Some prefer the first large courtyard: It’s a good vantage point to see the celebrities as they come in. And they tend to come in quite a lot, eager for a table in the quite private back room. Romantics like me find the middle room invitingly cozy, especially when there’s a fire leaping in the grate. The peachy front room has a little less charm, particularly on busy nights when a few extra tables are squeezed into the scheme. (It was here that Molly Kate was being toasted.)

But once you’re seated at the table of your choice, you’re still not out of danger: The menu has pitfalls of its own.

Elka Gilmore was the chef when the restaurant opened four years ago to great acclaim. But when she left a few months ago to open her own restaurant (Tumbleweed), an entire trio of chefs took her place. This may explain why on any given night the food stretches from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Consider the dinner I had the night that Molly Kate got named. I started with crab cakes with corn relish (a special); they were among the best crab cakes I’ve ever eaten. A heap of sweet fresh crab, still in lumps, had been loosely bound, very lightly dipped in bread crumbs and gently sauteed in butter. I almost canceled my main course and asked for another order. Later I wished I had.

Pan-roasted quail--stuffed with wild rice and served with a cranberry-ginger compote and limply fried parsnips--were straight out of the old hotel school of cooking. The stuffing was entirely uninspired, and the birds were dry, dull and overcooked. Lamb chops, on the other hand, seemed to have missed the grill altogether; I like rare meat, but this was barbaric. The tiny, blood-red baby loin chops were served in a fine wine sauce and accompanied by tangy, wilted mustard greens and a gentle white bean puree. It was a very up-and-down dinner, and it was very puzzling.

But it was not an aberration. During the course of many meals over the past few months I have not had a single dinner that did not vary dramatically in quality. One night dinner began with a fabulous special appetizer of grilled scallops, their edges slightly caramelized, served with cool strips of fennel and peppers sprinkled with cilantro. I ate it eagerly while my guest toyed with a mushy brown mound of overcooked lentils with avocado, tomatoes and goat cheese in a mustard vinaigrette. But then it was my friend’s turn to be thrilled with a simple dish of marinated duck breast, served in rare meaty slices with a puree of turnips.

Meanwhile, my own grilled tuna was almost raw and sitting on top of chopped Chinese broccoli, which was none too cooked itself. But the real problem with the dish was not the crunch; it was the sauce. The menu called it “spicy hoisin vinaigrette,” but it tasted like straight hoisin, and neither the tuna nor the broccoli were up to the punch of the sauce. The dish ended up tasting like something a first-time cook would make.

So how do you get a good meal here? Order carefully, and for the most part stick to the specials. The exceptions: sweet potato pancakes topped with sour cream and caviar. This is an inspired dish, the sweet pungence of the potatoes a perfect foil for the sourness of the cream and the saltiness of the caviar.

The angel-hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes, roasted peppers and basil is not particularly original, but it is well cooked and generous enough to be a main course. The duck and the veal are good, but I’d avoid the rather silly salad of Belgian endive mixed with pine nuts and Roquefort cheese. The carpaccio of tuna is also good--as you might expect in a restaurant that seems to favor the raw over the cooked.

But it is the fish specials that really shine. The monkfish I had one night, roasted and served in a shrimp-butter sauce, made it clear why this dish is sometimes called “poor man’s lobster.” The fish had that wonderfully chewy tenderness that makes lobster tails so attractive, and the same briny sweetness. Served with a little mushroom flan, it was as good a piece of fish as I have had in this city. On another night grilled mahi mahi was served in a red bell pepper sauce. On the side was an artichoke mousse that had been liberally anointed with truffle oil. It was an elegant dish, nicely conceived and beautifully executed.

Desserts are also good at Camelions. Among my favorites, a pear strudel, wrapped up in filo dough and served with an achingly sweet caramel sauce. And the creme brulee is always a treat. So too is the service. I have rarely encountered so many nice, quietly competent waiters. And for once there is a maitre d’ who seems to think that he is there to make you happy, rather than the reverse.

So why didn’t we ask this pleasant fellow to move us to another table the night of the noise? We told each other that we’d already moved once (we’d been seated on the patio), and we didn’t want to move again. But the real truth is that we were anxious to find out what the baby would be named.

Camelions, 246 26th St., Santa Monica (213) 395-0746; open for lunch Tuesday-Saturday, for dinner Tuesday-Sunday, for Sunday brunch. A full bar. Street parking. All major credit cards are accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $50-$80. Selected prices: sweet potato pancakes with sevruga caviar, $12.50; marinated duck breast, $21; monkfish with shrimp butter sauce, $21; creme brulee, $5.