Hal’s: When You’re Haute You’re Haute : Venice’s New ‘Neighborhood Restaurant’ Is a Very Hip Hangout

Hal’s Bar and Grill, 1349 W. Washington Blvd., Venice, (213) 396-3105. Open for lunch Monday-Friday; dinner daily; brunch Saturday and Sunday. Full bar. Valet parking at dinner. Visa, MasterCard and American Express accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $50-$70.

So there I was, sitting in a New York cafe, mainlining my first cappuccino of the day, pulling out the New York Times only to read that back home in Los Angeles yet another Venice “ haute art and architecture restaurant” had become the latest place to go. Off went the terminal-hipness buzzer. But on I read:

“Painters, writers, architects, movie people saunter in, newspapers under their arms, for their first hit of cappuccino . . . . Friends nod at one another from their booths. . . . “

Three thousand miles away and I was ready to hate this place, Hal’s. Spare me the breakfast choreographed by Pina Bausch, the crowd sculpted by Red Grooms. Was this nouvelle artist’s bar all some publicist’s hype? Or worse, had it already been co-opted by the ladies who art-tour and lunch? I flew back to town, went to check it out for myself and, over the next few months, found myself scribbling notes at lunch, dinner and weekend brunch.

The Room: Ambiance and Art

First lunch. Nobody snooty at the door. Wonderful, airy space; white beamed, barn-like rafters; low-key ash walls. Daylight floods in. Sixteen booths (great for conversation) upholstered a la Missoni in black-and-white nubby silk. Everything--including a zinc-topped bar and concrete tables dyed thalo green or aubergine--conceived by artist and designer Alway, who did the bar at Chaya Brasserie and the furniture at Trumps. And real, live paintings by the local big boys: Ed Moses, Peter Alexander, Laddie Dill. It feels good to be here. It’s relaxed, comfortable, fresh. I’m surprised.

Peering at the Menu (and at the Folks)

With the room open and the atmosphere so leisurely, it’s easy to scan who’s-who. Should we have corn chowder with roasted chile puree? The grilled half-chicken? Or the homemade veal sausage sandwich on sourdough baguette? Frank Sinatra on the stereo. Greg Gevurtz, Culinary Institute grad and ex-West Beach Cafe chef, in the kitchen. Everything’s under $10 at lunch. (Hey, Gregory Hines is in the next booth!)

Dinner time and the living is easy. So many dishes sound great--ravioli filled with Tuscan sausage, poached oysters with black bean sauce, Norwegian salmon with yellow tomato sauce, cappelini with shrimp. Hal’s: for successful artists . . . the entrees range from 15 to 20 clams. (There’s Bill Murray. Who’s he with?) Save room for corn meal pound cake.

Why I Was Ready to Hate Hal’s, or Remember Robert’s?

Deep in a dish of fabulous grilled chicken with even more sensational fries, I don’t really care that co-owner Hal Frederick--whom I recognize from Robert’s, which we’ll get to in a minute--walks over to Bill Murray to see how he’s enjoying his meal but not over to my surely chic enough screenwriter friend and me. I feel grouchy when Hal sits down with O.J. Simpson and doesn’t come by to ask me how I like my too oily duck confit salad (whole-wheat croutons, upscale greens, fresh rosemary, little snippets of duck). But then O.J. smiles at me and I wind up staying for a great chocolate mousse cake.

You may remember Robert’s, the hippest of Venice restaurants, a place of excess. The bar was always five-deep, the line at the restrooms twice as long. You could run into Jagger, Capote and Maya Angelou or hang out with co-owner Hal. From April Fool’s Day of 1977 until it closed in mid-1980, you were either in--or out--and the staff let you know your hip quotient the second you walked in. Pass or fail.

1988: The scene’s grown up. Hal’s Bar and Grill has none of those attitudes--or thrills. You can hear your dinner partner talk here. And the customers look like they have something to say . . . but Hal still doesn’t chat up everyone.

Why I Like Hal’s Even Though Not Once in All These Months Has Hal Ever Come Over to My Table.

Hal calls his place “a neighborhood restaurant” and that’s just what this is.

West Washington Boulevard’s not yet Santa Monica’s Main Street and, with luck, will never be Rodeo Drive. (But don’t worry, there’s valet parking at night.) Lunchtime brings a table of architects in Oliver Peoples glasses and Italian jackets, a European art dealer, a couple of actors skimming Variety and just-folks eating black bean and ancho chile cream soup.

That black bean soup with its orange abstract Expressionist swirl’s a bore, though. Great-sounding soups have regularly appeared on the table too bland.

But grilled duck comes roasted perfectly, and toasted polenta’s just the right crisp accompaniment (I scrape off that unctuous cream sauce.) And this is a place that knows how to grill and poach fish.

In a telephone conversation, Hal tells me “one should derange food as little as possible.” I agree. I like the freshness and the care in preparation: Omelets and hamburgers are full-bodied and satisfying; vegetables are always bright and crisp. And I’ve been delighted by a number of things--that brilliant ravioli filled with dusky Tuscan sausage, those poached oysters with black bean sauce nesting in golden julienned potatoes, that smashingly odd corn meal pound cake with a country fruit compote.

But sometimes wish I didn’t have to poke through the menu at dinner to find something without an overly inventive rich sauce.

The menu’s diversity permits Hal’s to straddle the line between bar and grill and upscale bistro. This is a very welcoming place. You can dress or not. Order breast of duck with raisins plumped in chamomile tea or tuna salad sandwich with French fries. Zucchini blossoms, or an ice cream sundae with chocolate and caramel sauce. You can drop in and sit at the bar, or have a three-course, two-hour meal.

Next time you’ve got red-eye fever, think Venice, cappuccino and all those nodding, New York Times-approved painter, writer, architect, movie people friends.