RESTAURANT REVIEW : A Treat for Fans of Sugar, Melted Cheese

On a Monday night, when the Century City Shopping Center is sparsely populated, there’s a 15-minute wait for a table at Houston’s, the big new restaurant at the mall’s northern entrance.

Houston’s has replaced Langan’s Brasserie, an ambitious, individualistic restaurant that sported what might have been the city’s longest bar, a crammed-together, idiosyncratic art collection and an upscale, pricey menu that no doubt drove many potential customers right back across the walkway to the Stage Deli, Bodacious Buns or another of the mall’s fast-food outlets.

Houston’s, which is a well-established chain restaurant Back East, has much more immediate mass appeal than Langan’s ever did. While undeniably encouraging an active singles scene, Houston’s also absorbs shoppers and moviegoers of all ages.

The dining room is a large maze of tables and partitions. The lighting is dim and coppery, flattering to the customers. The partitions create a sense of semi-privacy, yet the restaurant’s noise level is deafening. All but the most telegraphic conversation is a real chore; presumably this relieves dating singles--and everyone else--of actually having to talk to each other.

Across the way, where Langan’s endless bar once was, there is a huge open kitchen full of big, good-looking young guys grilling meat, patting pizza dough, stoking the wood oven with oak logs.

We order full dinners, only to find the salads are virtually meal-sized. The Caesar is made with hearts of romaine and croutons, but except for a hint of anchovy, the sour-sweet dressing does not resemble any Caesar I’ve known. Although I’m not impressed with the house salad, my friend Kate loves it; the big bowl of fresh lettuce comes with bacon, croutons and clear, sweetish dressing.

Roasted chicken, juicy and tasty in itself, is covered with a hunk of white cheese, and sits in a big bowl of overly sweet black beans. Prime rib is an impressive slab of not-so-tender rare beef with the bone still attached; over the next few days, I will have three more meals from the same serving of beef. The accompanying baked potato is filled with the works: butter, green onion, sour cream, cheddar cheese and bacon bits.

As if we didn’t get enough sweetness in our previous courses, we order an apple cobbler, which is indeed very sweet and made extra-rich with tons of walnuts.

The next time we go to Houston’s, we sit in the bar. Unlike the partitioned dining room, there is no privacy here. As we’re dipping into Houston’s “Chicago Style” spinach-and-artichoke dip, a little girl sits down at our table with her Shirley Temple. She chats with us until her mother shows up and takes her over to the next table. We work on the dip, essentially a cup full of bland, lukewarm creamed spinach and slivered artichoke hearts under a blanket of melted cheese. The salsa and sour cream served on the side baffle us--are they complements to the dip, or optional dips in case we don’t like the spinach?

Suddenly, we hear a man swear at a waiter: It’s the young girl’s father. He is angry at everyone about his drink and waiting for a table and to show it, he comes and sits apart from his family--at our table! He slams down his drink. He pulls the ashtray over and lights a cigarette just as we are tasting some good but lukewarm tortilla soup.

We’re afraid to say anything to him, so we just try to enjoy the soup, with its curls of crisp tortillas, chunks of avocado and tons of melted cheese. The man slams his drink down after every sip and pouts at his wife and child until their chips and dip arrive. Slowly, lured by food, he scooches down the banquette and, to our great relief, reassimilates into his family.

About this time, our main courses arrive. Kate has the caponata pizza, a big oblong pie with overly sweet tomato sauce, somewhat sweet marinated eggplant, fresh radicchio, goat cheese and melted mozzarella. The crust has the character of a big soft cracker or a crisped flour tortilla: it’s awful.

I have a cheeseburger that, despite being over-dressed, is made from absolutely delicious grilled meat. To go with the burger, I’d chosen the couscous, which turns out to be a cold salad made from the tiny pasta and dressed with a very sweet vinaigrette.

By now, we’ve gotten the hang of Houston’s food: It is built around sugar and melted cheese--”What children love most,” says Kate.

While some adults may find such food bland, rich and cloying, others may form deep, meaningful attachments to it. We learn this from our next tablemates, two friendly young women who politely ask if they can sit at the two empty spaces at our table.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” one woman happily exclaims to the other. It turns out, these are two friends from Potomac, Md., where Houston’s is the place to go for eating, dancing, and just being with friends.

“When I drove by the other day and saw there was a Houston’s here, I screamed!” the one woman says. She orders the spinach-and-artichoke dip and demonstrates to us the proper way to eat it: drag tortilla chip through the spinach, spoon on salsa, top with sour cream, eat reverently.

Houston’s, 10250 Santa Monica Blvd., Century City, (310) 557-1285. Lunch and dinner seven days. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Full Bar. Validated parking. Dinner for two, food only, $35 to $65.