RESTAURANTS : THE PRICE OF PLEASURE : Fabulous Food, Exquisite Atmosphere and Great Service Don’t Come Cheap

Some critics take notes at the table. Some sneak into the bathroom to record impressions. I keep a tape recorder in my car, and after leaving a restaurant, I talk to myself all the way home.

The last time I left Valentino, this is what I said: “I had forgotten how happy eating good food can make me. I came in tired and grumpy, wishing I could just go home and go to bed. But with each course, I found myself getting happier and more excited. This is how restaurants are supposed to make you feel. How come so few of them do?”

There are a lot of answers to that question, but the most important one is this: It takes an enormous amount of money to run a restaurant like Valentino. Money from the restaurateur, who could make a much better living running a cheap little joint where the tables turn 10 times a day. Money from the client who, in these recessionary days, is getting increasingly reluctant to pay the price. There are only a handful of quietly elegant establishments left. And on this particular evening, Valentino’s dining room was two-thirds empty.

As I drove home, I passed dozens of chic, trendy and well-packed restaurants. Looking into their well-lighted windows, I could see people perched on uncomfortable chairs, shouting to make themselves heard over the din. I could see them lapping up greasy plates of pasta while rude waiters stood over them, perhaps urging them to eat faster so the next party could sit down. I could see people milling about, waiting to be seated. And I was grateful to have eaten dinner in such calm, quiet comfort.

In a world where going out to eat has become a trying experience, Valentino is remarkably refreshing. You don’t have to wait for your table. You don’t have to shout at your companions. And the answer to every question is yes. You want something that’s not on the menu? Of course. You want a smaller portion? No problem. You want your food cooked without salt? Certainly. You want this sauce with that entree? Absolutely.

During most of Valentino’s 20-year history, there has been a notable chef in the kitchen--at the moment it is Angelo Auriana--but it is owner Piero Selvaggio who has always set the tone. It is he who comes exuberantly to the table, eager to find out what you’d like, anxious to give you a great meal, excited about all the wonderful products that have just come into the kitchen. He makes you feel as if you deserve to be taken care of.

“I’ve just gotten this olive oil I want you to taste,” he says, pouring out little puddles of bright green oil. “What do you think?” He leaves for a moment to go in search of something for you to nibble while you consider what to eat for dinner. He returns with a plate of frico --Parmesan griddled into crisp, frilly chips--accompanied by bundles of tiny spears of asparagus wrapped up in prosciutto and grilled.

“Now,” he says. “dinner. What do you feel like?” After much consultation, the meal is decided. It starts with marinated salmon served with caponata , the robust eggplant relish. The squeaky sweetness of the marinated eggplant plays nicely against the silky smoothness of the fish.

Then there is risotto with sea urchin paired with risotto and sausage--the briny delicacy of the one a fine contrast to the earthy robustness of the other.

The entree is lamb chops dressed up in a crunchy coat of chopped nuts and decorated with green beans so fine they are almost white. With this, we had just a tiny bit of shell pasta in a dark sauce made of olives, peas and cream.

Then a plate of cheese--just to finish the wine--and finally an assortment of desserts--hazelnut caramel cake, strawberry cake, an array of sorbets. And tiny cups of wonderful espresso.

The food is expensive, but the real expense here is the wine. There are few people who know Italian wine as well as Selvaggio, and if you’re willing to taste something new, you’d be smart to put yourself in his hands. By doing this, I’ve tasted extraordinary wines that I would otherwise never have known about, including the world’s most refreshing white wine, Tocai, from northern Italy, and an enormous (and enormously expensive) Sicilian Chardonnay called Regaleali.

Ordering out of the air like this is a real luxury; that dinner was about $100 per person. But it’s certainly not necessary to spend that kind of money to eat well at Valentino. In fact, the meal that made me so happy, the one I rhapsodized about in the car, was not this extravagant blowout but one I ordered off the menu.

I took three people and told them they could order anything they wanted. One friend chose a tortino of mushrooms as an appetizer, a deep brown custard topped with what looked like a creamy sauce. When she cut into the custard, the concentrated fragrance of porcini mushrooms flew into the air. The sauce, melted cheese actually, tamed the flavors, softening them.

Another chose a Caesar salad, which seemed to me like a dumb choice in a restaurant of this caliber. But I learned something: The one here is classic, the dressing perfectly balanced between egg, cheese, anchovy and mustard. And the relationship between lettuce and dressing was admirably conservative.

Another friend chose gnocchi made of ricotta. Each little puff was so light that it evaporated before you could swallow. For myself, I ordered orecchiette with rapini , a rustic plateful of pasta. The tiny shells were tossed with a sauce made of well-cooked broccoli raab, with anchovies and capers.

The person who started with the salad had pasta as an entree. The fettuccine with ragu here makes a fine main course, intensely meaty without being dry, the ideal Italian sauce punctuated by just the vaguest hint of tomato.

Venetian liver is a dish Valentino does particularly well. The meat lacks all bitterness, and when Auriana tosses the strips with sweet onions and balsamic vinegar, he comes up with a complex concoction shot through with degrees of sweetness. The sweetbreads, cooked with porcini mushrooms, are also excellent. I’m less impressed with the fish, although the marinated, grilled swordfish (“no sauce, no oil”) made the dieter among us quite content.

Only two of us wanted dessert, and we chose a modest bottle of wine. One person ordered coffee. The bill came to about $35 a person.

That’s a lot of money. Still, as I drove home, past all those full, noisy restaurants, I tried to see the faces of the people inside. None of them looked very happy. I’d guess that they were spending half as much as we did. I know they weren’t having half as much fun.

Valentino, 3115 Pico Blvd., Santa Monica; (310) 829-4313. Open for dinner Monday through Saturday and for lunch on Fridays. Full bar. Valet parking. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $55 - $100.