RESTAURANTS : An Opera With No Music

Opera, 1551 Ocean Ave., Santa Monica. (213) 393-9224. Open for lunch, Monday-Friday; for brunch, Saturday and Sunday; for dinner, nightly. Full bar. Valet parking. Visa, MasterCard and American Express accepted. Dinner for 2, food only, $38-$84.

The sky--just over there, above the sea--is momentarily a brilliant shade of raspberry. Then the sun disappears behind the palm trees and lights start to flicker on. Here on the patio, men in white pants and women in sandals clink glasses filled with startling concoctions (vodka stained a deep magenta by an infusion of berries, for instance) and nibble on hors d’oeuvres. It is like an ad for the California good life.

Actually they could be sitting on any of three patios that stretch along Santa Monica’s new restaurant row by the shore. Now that Fennel and Opera have joined the Ivy, Ocean Avenue has become the city’s hippest street to eat on. These restaurants are all studies in a new kind of casual elegance.

Nobody dresses up to come here, and the rooms themselves are underplayed. But in spite of a certain spareness, these restaurants all buzz with energy, and when you look around, you find that no detail has been neglected. There are beautiful plates, fine silverware, comfortable chairs. Even the napkins (note what is lying in your lap at Opera), are extraordinary. Welcome to beach chic.

Is it an accident that the two newcomers, Fennel and Opera, both devote themselves to Mediterranean food? Hardly. Local folk have turned their backs on cream and butter. They’re tired of hearing about “California Cuisine.” And now they sit at the edge of the ocean, thinking about far away shores and nibbling on a new cuisine. The sea here may not be Mediterranean blue, the skies may not be quite as sunny, but on these privileged patios, you can watch the fading light and imagine that the beach down below goes on forever.

The Mediterranean, of course, covers a lot of territory. But while Fennel devotes itself to the satisfying food of southern France, Opera takes a daring approach, drawing upon the foods of every land on which the Mediterranean sea has shores. It makes for a very unusual menu, but for the most part it is one that Californians could easily become accustomed to.

Consider the hors d’oeuvres. You can have Moroccan b’stilla purses-- wonderfully crunchy little tidbits wrapped in filo, filled with egg and chicken, and dusted with powdered sugar. (It’s a little like eating dessert before dinner, but it is a deliciously seductive dish.) You can have Greek dolmades-- grape leaves stuffed with lamb, nuts, raisins, and in a twist on the usual rice, a few grains of couscous. These come, not in the normal lemon sauce, but rather a refreshing cucumber coulis. Kibbeh- marinated beef balls pay tribute to Lebanon, but in this case, the kibbeh itself is not lamb, not raw, but rather delicate little balls of meat nestled in a shell of fried cracked wheat.

But my favorite of the appetizers comes straight from Provence; it is pain bagnat-- a wonderfully lusty rendition of the Provencale sandwich, here showered with so many anchovies that my squeamish friends have turned up their noses and turned away. (Leaving me to happily eat their portions.)

When it comes to ordering entrees, you may be tempted to remember that the restaurant is named for opera de mariscos , a sort of Spanish bouillabaisse . It is the sort of a dish you imagine yourself eating in a small Spanish beach cafe overlooking the Mediterranean sea. No such luck: this bouillabaisse is an irritatingly timid version of the famous soup. I don’t know what they did with the fish that went into the broth, but those that fill the soup bowl (and a lot of fish they are) have been grilled, which adds a strange dimension to the dish. And where the pain bagnat has an authentic strength of flavor, the rouille that comes with the bouillabaisse is remarkably genteel--it barely hints at garlic. When you lift your spoon to your mouth the overwhelming flavor is neither seafood nor saffron nor garlic, but a slightly discordant note of rosemary.

The whole spiced fish, on the other hand, is a wonder--among the best dishes in the house. The fish changes from night to night, but when I had it, it was a red snapper, liberally rubbed with spices in the Moroccan mode and baked to a turn. The grilled lavender chicken was similarly simple and delicious; the skin was crisp, the meat moist, and the faint flavor of lavender was the perfect Mediterranean touch. A paillard of veal with a dark, meaty sauce infused with coriander and mint was also perfectly plain and perfectly delicious.

But too little here is simple. The kitchen likes to embellish dishes-- often to their detriment. And there seems to be an obsession with pine nuts. You find them in the goat cheese-stuffed peppers (or if you’re lucky you won’t; the dish is unappealing) and again in the ratatouille (which would be better without them). They turn up, along with far too many other ingredients--green beans, apples, celery--in the chicken salad at lunchtime. You can’t help wondering why the kitchen is so intent on giving you too much of a good thing.

Specials here also tend to the baroque. One night tuna showed up with a compote of peaches and plums, a decidedly unhappy marriage. On a different night the special was peaches again, this time paired with breast of Muscovy duck in an intensely aromatic berry sauce; despite the ornate qualities of this dish, it was absolutely wonderful.

You are encouraged to order side dishes, although in many cases, you won’t need them. The grilled rib-eye steak comes with potatoes, and the bouillabaisse and special daily couscous (when I had it this delicious semolina grain was served with a hefty veal chop), are all hearty meals. But if you’ve ordered chicken or fish, you may well want to order a little something extra. You’ll find that the choice is as eclectic as the rest of the menu. From France comes ratatouille, haricots verts and tomato Provencale . From Italy come fettucini and risotto. The Moroccans contribute couscous (here in a smaller portion). From Tunisia comes a dish of vegetables flavored with a surprisingly sweet spiciness. I suppose the grilled vegetables are a California conceit, but the French fries (nice ones) would have to be called entirely international.

The dessert menu displays less of an international flair--and holds fewer disappointments. Almost all the desserts are French-inspired, and almost all are wonderful. My favorites have been the baked lime zabaglione-- a fluffy cloud of egg foam topped with a halo of crunchy caramelized sugar in an intense tangerine sauce--and the tarte bressane, a very French rendition of berry shortcake. If you’re a chocolate lover, you won’t want to miss the triple chocolate dessert.

There is also an Opera cake--a tongue-in-cheek interpretation of a traditional French pastry. I like this one far better than the original. Here almond cake is layered with fresh pears and surrounded by an espresso creme anglaise. On top, where the butter cream would be, there is a light, mousse-like coffee frosting. It is a strange and delicious confection--an entirely new invention.

Sort of like this restaurant. “The word Opera, “ says one restaurant spokesman, “means more than just the seafood dish. It is our metaphor for all these different things coming together.” Right now you sit here and wish that you were on the Mediteranean; if all these things finally do come together, you may not want to be anywhere else on earth.

Recommended dishes: Pain bagnat with anchoyade, $4; b’stilla purses $7.50; roasted lavender chicken, $12.50; whole spiced marinated fish, $17.50; tarte bressane, $5.50