RESTAURANT REVIEW : Marcela’s in Van Nuys Cooks to the Beat of the Tango : Entertainment: Valley eating establishment that’s quiet by day becomes an Argentine hot spot by night.

It was a Tuesday night at Marcela’s, an Argentine Italian Continental restaurant in Van Nuys, and things were awfully quiet. The tables were all dressed up in peach and gray linens, with accordioned napkins and fresh flowers. The wooden dance floor was gleaming.

I was there with a friend and his 15-year-old son. There was also a table of three women and one man--their tango instructor, who periodically escorted one of them to the dance floor. Two other men sat at a table, far from us.

The dining room looked as if it went on forever through white arches, but this was an illusion. The people looking back at us in the next rooms all turned out to be us--as reflected in many large mirrors. We were it. A busboy brought us some bread, hard little rounds cut from a baguette--we didn’t know if they were toasted or dried out. The owner came over to take our order.

Usually, he told us, there’s a professional waiter, but not tonight. We fought flagging spirits, felt just a little out of sorts, not really sad, not really lonely, but in touch with the peculiar out-of-the-way feeling that comes in a restaurant that’s been gussied up for a crowd that never arrives.

That night, the three of us had a good but not extraordinary dinner at a reasonable price. We loved the hot, juicy chicken empanadas and agreed that my skirt steak was the best entree. And the crepes, filled with dulce de leche, a caramelized condensed milk-like substance, were wonderful. The cannelloni, the scampi, the soups and salads were not remarkable.

“Come see us on a Friday or a Saturday night,” said the owner, almost apologetically. “We have the tango then. You should see it. People here in this country are more serious about the tango than anybody I’ve ever met.”

After 10 p.m. on a Saturday I returned to Marcela’s with my friend Kate. A major transformation had taken place within those white and mirrored walls. The crowd had arrived. A very lively crowd. There was also a three-piece band, “Tango Tres” and a cover charge ($5) for the entertainment. I will say right now: That was one of the best $5 I have ever spent.

Tonight, I understood the reason behind all those mirrors: You could see what was happening on the dance floor from several angles. And what was going on was some of the most adept, alluring, fascinating tangoing I’ve ever seen. Couples of all ages were out there, legs closely spaced, dragging their feet, traveling in broad, fast parallel strides across the floor, kicking, feinting, dragging heels slowly up calves, looking this way and that. We watched in amazement. “Gosh,” I said to Kate, “it’s so controlled, and brazen, and complicated and wanton.”

“Yeah,” she said, “and so technical, and brave, and amazing and sexy.”

All told, we couldn’t see enough of it, or come up with enough adjectives to describe it.

When the dancers rested, the band and the singer kept us equally well entertained. All four men wore suits and ties. The bass player, a young man with a ponytail, played the stand-up bass sitting down. And the bandonion player looked like a man who had had his heart irremediably broken and who was now condemned to play this most heart-wrenching of instruments for the rest of his life.

The singer, a well-coiffed, silken-voiced gentleman, sang intense, dramatic songs in Spanish, songs that had some members of the audience groaning in anguish and recognition. “Oh!” cried a woman near us. She beat her brow and clutched at her head.

Meanwhile, Kate and I had dinner. We started with chicken empanadas because I couldn’t resist ordering them again. Kate had a grilled trout that was stuffed with celery and tomatoes. Juicy, delicate, perfectly cooked, it was one of the best trouts I’ve ever had in a restaurant. My very garlicky garlic-marinated chicken, however, was just OK. The accompanying vegetables were also heavily doused in garlic--too heavily for my taste. We ate at a leisurely pace. In spite of all that was going on--the dancing, the singing, the busy, social crowd--the service was attentive and prompt.

In a word, we were transported. We were as far away from our daily lives and concerns, as distant from Van Nuys Boulevard as we might have been in a Buenos Aires nightclub. Hours passed. We kept saying we would leave after the next dance, after the next song. We ordered cappuccino.

A South American actress who had been the liveliest, the most notable tango dancer, came up on the small stage and sang with the band. She sang jazz songs in Spanish and English with such verve that Kate and I looked at each other and agreed: one more song, and maybe one more after that. And then we went ahead and ordered those good crepes.

They came out perfectly. The filling was soft and warm, the top coated with the lightest, crispest film of caramelized sugar. One more tango. One more bite of the little pancakes. The truth was, we were too happy to move.

Marcela’s, 14533 Gilmore St., Van Nuys. (818) 989-2581. Open for lunch and dinner from 6 to 10 p.m. Tuesday to Sunday. Cover charge is $5 Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Tango lessons from 7 to 8 p.m. Sunday (included in cover charge). MasterCharge and Visa accepted. Beer and wine only. Parking. Dinner for two, food only, $20 to $35.