The Romance of Dining by a Runway : There Is occasional turbulence, but at DC 3 you eat in style

DC 3, at the Santa Monica Airport, 2800 Donald Douglas Loop N., Santa Monica. (213) 399-2323. Open for lunch Monday-Friday; for brunch on weekends; for dinner nightly. Full bar. Valet parking. Visa, MasterCard and American Express accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $45-$100

“I think you must like our restaurant,” said Bruce Marder, coming over to my table on my last visit to DC 3. “Or maybe you’re just trying to see how long it takes for a restaurant to get itself together.”

Well--both, actually. For this big, beautiful restaurant with its uptown airs and its downtown food is simultaneously easy to like and easy to hate.

Visit One

The Reluctant Gourmet would rather not eat late (by which he means any meal that commences after about 7 p.m.). Asking him to wait to eat until 8:30--the first available time when I called a week ahead for reservations--is always a risky proposition. When the food does not make an appearance until after 9:30, you are in serious trouble.

And that’s exactly what I am right now. The RG doesn’t care that the rolls are warm and that the Fossi ’61 Chianti is delicious. He is beyond being charmed by the beauty of the room. He is not impressed by the fact that the booth we are sitting in makes conversation--even in a crowded room--easy. He is hungry .

The appearance, at 9:40, of the stuffed peppers, aren’t much help. Oh, the cheese-stuffed peppers-- chiles rellenos, really--are totally delicious: One is in a pool of pesto sauce, the other in a fresh tomato sauce. There’s a fine frito misto, too, a plate of crisply fried eggplant, smelt and calamari . But they are only tidbits, and once we’ve devoured these delicacies our plates are snatched away, and another 15 minutes pass. The RG looks at his watch. It is now past 10. He is seriously annoyed.

“How can it take so long?” he explodes. “We’ve only ordered soup and salad.” Once these arrive he is hardly mollified by the fact that his chopped salad with olives, bacon, beets and avocado is wonderful. I hardly dare tell him that my own soup--an intense chicken broth filled with little, square, ricotta-filled ravioli--is a dream. He is busy devouring the food, and I am busy praying that the next course comes quickly.

It doesn’t. It is 10:30 before his lamb shank arrives. He looks down at the big meaty shank, which is accompanied by a mound of great mashed potatoes and a half a head of roasted garlic, and shakes his head. “I’m hardly hungry anymore,” he says. Nevertheless, I notice that he manages to put a serious dent into the plate of food. He also does a fair amount of damage to the vegetables we have ordered: A plate of French fries (easily big enough to feed 4), some spinach and some very good onion rings.

Meanwhile, I am eating a great fat slice of grilled tuna in a citrus sauce. It is just about the best piece of tuna I’ve ever eaten, and if the RG weren’t still glowering across the table, I’d be very happy.

By now it is 11 p.m., and the RG refuses to even think about dessert and coffee. “I would like to get home before morning,” he says, calling for the check. As we walk out the door he finds some friends at another table. Stopping to say hello, he discovers that they had 8:45 reservations and have yet to be served their main course. “That does it for me,” he says. “I like the food, but I’m not coming back.”

Visit Two

I am riding up in the elevator with a group of women who are fluffing their hair and tugging at their trousers. One is telling the other about her visit to her detailer. Unfortunately, the elevator ride is so short I never discover what a detailer is. As we walk across the little bridge to the restaurant, the other woman says, “It’s a great scene. Just wait until you see all the guys at the bar.”

In fact, you can’t miss the guys at the bar: There seem to be hundreds of them. As you walk into the restaurant, you walk into an explosion of noise and action. My heart sinks--are all these people waiting for tables?

Fortunately, they are not; they are glued to the bar. We are led right to our table--which overlooks the runway at the little Santa Monica airport. It’s pretty romantic, sitting here watching the planes gliding in and out. I’m sorry the RG has refused to come.

Tonight the food comes out like clockwork. To begin there is a spectacularly simple saffron broth with a piece of Chilean seabass in it. The fish is so tender and delicate that it literally melts in your mouth. The endive salad with Roquefort is good, too. We follow that with a wonderful grilled veal chop and a perfectly cooked charred chicken topped with lots of cumin. The only dish that doesn’t thrill me is the potato pancake we have ordered on the side. It tastes like stuck-together hash browns.

For dessert there is an intensely chocolate cake in a pool of chocolate sauce and rice pudding brulee. I don’t think the latter is the greatest idea: The pudding itself is sort of dry and dusty, and the crackling sugar top doesn’t help.

I glance down at my watch as the dessert is served; the timing has been perfect. If the RG been here, I think he would have liked the restaurant.

Visit Three

It’s lunchtime at DC 3. The vast room is lovely in the daylight--with an imposing, big-city feel to it. You can easily imagine that you’re in New York, lunching at the Four Seasons.

Just as I am thinking this, Dennis Hopper walks past my table. Famous people generally look right through you, but Hopper returns my stare. It’s such a surprise that I find myself blushing.

But there are lots of surprises today. The Vittel comes in iced glasses--nice touch. The Caesar salad arrives promptly. It’s a good one (although my purist friend objects to the inclusion of radicchio with the greens). My green salad is just fine--except for the one leaf of lettuce that is filled with sand. I am staring at the sand when Marder ambles over and I blurt out, “You should get your people to wash the lettuce more carefully.” He peers at my plate, looks at the leaf and says, “Let me have that.” He then stomps into the kitchen with the incriminating evidence.

Lunch here can be a fancy meal or a simple one. At the next table the people are eating Delmonico steaks. At our table we go the sandwich route and are rewarded by a terrific cheeseburger (which comes with potato salad, onions, tomato, pickle and lettuce) and a fine rare roast beef sandwich on good white bread.

We finish off with espresso ice cream and a lemon pie with a slightly underbaked meringue. This is a peaceful room in the daytime, and I’m just thinking that I’d happily eat a hamburger here every day when Marder walks by again and says, “I don’t know why people stay open for lunch. If I fill the room at lunch I make 5 grand. If I fill the room at dinner I make 20 grand.”

Visit Four

He is filling the room at dinner. Despite numerous complaints about the slowness of the service, the restaurant is constantly packed. This is unfrightening food--exactly the sort of stuff to appeal to jaded palates tired of dishes that contain too many ingredients. The RG still refuses to return, but it’s his loss: The service seems to be improving over time.

Tonight we are seated promptly. Oyster stew and steak tartare appear almost as soon as we have ordered them. The stew is made with fresh oysters and real cream, and it is rich--if slightly lacking in seasoning. The steak tartare is certainly good, although the round patty looks a little austere sitting on a plate with only two oblongs of garlicky toasted baguette to keep it company.

The rack of lamb--three elegant chops with long bones surrounding a circle of fried goat cheese--is wonderful. I’m less impressed with the special of the evening--a not-so-special saffron risotto with mushrooms. It’s not quite in the spirit of the restaurant, and it seems to know that it is out of place. For this is a restaurant in which to eat real food--soups, salads, caviar if you can afford it, grilled meat or fish and all those wonderful potatoes (there are eight variations on the theme).

Desserts on the other hand, need not be simple. My favorite has been the orange souffle, which costs $8, but will easily feed two. To my surprise, I even find that the chocolate chip whipped cream which comes on the side is a nice touch.

But we find the most telling touch of the evening downstairs. We are waiting for our cars to be delivered when my friend points at the ground. “Look,” she says.

I look. The valet has tossed our used parking stubs into a crate. It’s just a simple wooden crate. But it has the words “La Tache” (the world’s most expensive wine) emblazoned across the front.

Of course. At DC 3, the package is important.

Recommended dishes: Chilean seabass in saffron broth, $6; frito misto, $6; braised lamb shank with mashed potatoes, $14; charred tuna with citrus sauce, $16; rack of lamb, $25; french fries , $5; cheeseburger (at lunch) , $8; orange souffle , $8.