RESTAURANT REVIEW : My Way: The Song’s Much Better Than the Food

Normally, I’m drawn to a restaurant because something or someone has intimated that I just might get something good to eat there. Occasionally, I visit a place because it’s the oldest of its ilk or offers the largest stack of pancakes in the Northern Hemisphere, or the chef sings Benjamin Britten operas a capella.

But recently I found myself at an Italian and seafood restaurant on Laurel Canyon Boulevard for no other reason but that I love the name: My Way.

I love the name primarily because I love the song, a former French pop tune, which was translated by Paul Anka and became the signature song of such diverse artists as Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Sid Vicious and Snotty Scotty and the Hankies.

Regardless of who’s singing, those first slow, doomed words, “And now, the end is near/ And so I face the final curtain . . .” invariably thrill and horrify me and hook me for the duration. “My Way” is the anthem of the vindicated underdog; it’s a masterpiece of irony.

After all, we know what Frank has turned into, and what became of Elvis and Sid. . . . And we know why things turned out that way for them: The record shows, they took the blows, and did it their way.

It would be curious, I thought, to see “My Way” as a restaurant.

On a Wednesday night, four of us arrive at the North Hollywood establishment with 7:30 dinner reservations. “I have a good table for you by the fountain,” says our host. He leads us through a nearly empty restaurant where fuchsia silk lilies adorn each table, linens are pink and white, dinnerware is octagonal and shiny black--very deco.

The walls are covered by huge gray, pink and lavender airbrushed murals. Most remarkable, however, is our destination, “the fountain” on the east wall, a life-size diorama. Emerging from a pastel, psychedelic, airbrushed seascape is real rock work, silk ivy and foliage. Water runs into a pool of grayish suds and fills the room with the scent of chlorine.

By the time the chairs have been graciously pulled out for the ladies, menus handed around and drink orders taken, the four of us have the nervous giggles. We’re not used to seeing this kind of decor (call it art disco) in a restaurant; we’re much more accustomed to seeing it on customized vans and pop singers’ tour buses.

“Well,” says my friend Steve, “You gotta admit--they’re doing it their way.”

The Southern Italian menu is lengthy and expensive. (Entrees start at $14.50). There are chicken, veal, lamb, beef, seafood dishes, plus pastas, risottos and appetizers. An extensive menu in a nearly empty restaurant always makes me nervous. I worry that there hasn’t been enough customer turnover to ensure freshness of ingredients. At My Way, it seems, such concerns are justified. Except for some fresh, lightly dressed salads, we find our food disappointing.

I let the host talk me into a “three-color” pasta appetizer and wish I hadn’t. The spaghetti in a tomato and caper sauce is respectable, but the penne in a cream-enriched pesto is undercooked, as is the big dry ravioli in a floury white sauce. Oysters on the half shell are small and not flavorful.

In fact, once we’ve assimilated the weird surroundings and had a few mouthfuls of uninspired appetizers and watery drinks, we just want to finish dinner and head home. Our entrees and another round of watery drinks don’t alter our spirits. A chicken with pine nuts is dry; much of the seafood in my risotto is tough; prawns in a champagne sauce are rubbery, and the baby vegetables that accompany the dinners are withered. We leave without dessert.

Normally, I won’t review a restaurant as dispiriting as My Way, but I did return to have a surprisingly acceptable lunch there.

During the day, My Way is livelier with customers and cheerier. Three of the four dishes a friend and I order are wonderful: We have a delicious arugula and radicchio salad, delightful prosciutto and melon and a capellini alla checca as full of tomatoes and fresh basil as any we’ve had. The only disappointment is a tortellini in sage butter: The pasta is, again, undercooked, and the sauce is gummy with cheese and over-rich.

My Way is an ambitious restaurant that is not living up to its ambitions. I hope, however, at some future point, the owner will be able to say, in the words of Paul Anka:

“Yes there were times, I’m sure you know, when I bit off more than I could chew. But through it all when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all, and I stood tall, and did it my way.”

My Way, 6304 Laurel Canyon Blvd., North Hollywood (818) 761-5490. Open for lunch Monday through Friday 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.; for dinner Monday through Thursday, 5:30 to 10 p.m., Friday and Saturday, 5:30 to 11 p.m. Full Bar. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $30 to $55.