Big on Tradition and Portions

As i drive by the palm in west Hollywood one day, I see a gentleman in Bermuda shorts (nice ones, the kind Ralph or Calvin might wear) stepping from his car. Uh-oh, I think, here’s somebody who doesn’t know the Palm’s dress code. I picture the hostess opening her closet of white duck trousers and offering him a pair. After all, tradition is tradition--even in the dead of summer.

The venerable Palm is a little bit of New York set down near Beverly Hills. At 23 years, it is one of L.A.’s senior restaurants, right up there with Dan Tana’s, but a mere youngster compared to downtown’s Pacific Dining Car. The original Palm (there are 14 branches across the country), in Manhattan’s theater district, dates from 1926 and is decorated with caricatures of famous people. The idea is said to have begun when owners Pio Bozzi and John Ganzi offered newspaper cartoonists supper in exchange for drawings. The L.A. restaurant attempts to create the same clubby atmosphere with a lively bar scene, rows of old-fashioned wood booths and a suave maitre d’. Of course, here, the caricatures are all Hollywood celebrities, such as Mitzi Gaynor, Natalie Wood, William Shatner and Fred Astaire, who tap-danced on the bar when his was unveiled. There’s even a picture of the Juice still mounted on the wall.

The bar is always packed with people waiting for their tables. Only once in six visits have I ever been seated promptly. Usually the hostess will ask if your entire party is present, and then inform you it will be a 20-minute wait. Meanwhile, you can have a drink or watch people demolish steaks and lobsters of gargantuan proportions. The Palm is not the place for dainty appetites.

The prized seats are those roomy booths, which are sometimes held for parties of four, leaving groups of three to make do with one of the tiny two-seat booths--and a chair stuck in the aisle. It’s a festive crowd, which thrills until the excruciating noise level registers five minutes later. Forget long pants; they should pass out earplugs.

Waiters are old-timers who have that New York gruffness--real or cultivated, I can’t say. They’re not long on talk or detailed presentations of the menu, but they do take care of you, which is more than I can say for some more charming and verbal L.A. waiters. The kitchen is efficient, too, sending out dishes quickly.

I’d never had a truly good meal at the Palm until I went with a regular, who promised to coach me on what to order. “Get the blue crab salad, which isn’t on the menu,” he whispers. “The New York steak, charred medium rare. And an order of hash browns.” I dutifully follow his instructions but have everyone else at the table try something different.

I love the salad, a small bowl of the delicate lump crab meat, which, like the shrimp cocktail, comes with cocktail sauce on the side, along with horseradish and Tabasco. (The waiter, however, fails to mention that the crab salad is $17.) And Gigi Salad, named after Gigi Delmaestro, the Palm’s longtime, mustachioed maitre d’, is basically a Cobb with shrimp instead of chicken, drenched in a thin, vinegary dressing. Put a decent vinaigrette on it and it would shine. Clams on the half-shell are big, albeit a bit tough. They go down more easily when dipped in some of that doctored cocktail sauce.

Unfortunately, my steak is slightly overcooked, but not enough that I’ll send it back. And so is the Porterhouse, a special. The New York strip is definitely the better of the two cuts; I’ve rarely had a Porterhouse with so little flavor. How long

are the Palm’s steaks aged? Two weeks, snaps the waiter. They could use a little more. Steak a la Stone is the only one that’s cooked to what I would consider a true medium rare. We wonder briefly if it’s named after Sharon, then agree that the actress would probably never order this mess of sauteed green peppers, onions and sliced steak often enough to have it named after her. In fact, I can’t imagine anybody choosing this--or the football-size chopped steak--over the prime New York strip.

The Palm’s other specialty is jumbo lobster, which weighs in at 3 pounds to 6 pounds. At about $18 a pound, that’s a minimum of $54, but nobody ever seems to share. The lobster comes split and broiled, served with drawn butter. A server takes the claws, each about as big as a fist, wraps them in a napkin and cracks and breaks them into two or three large pieces with his bare hands. Surprisingly, the meat is not rubbery or tough. And now I see why the dish is so popular.

The hash browns, a single huge cake, aren’t crisp enough to catch my fancy. But my friend loves them. Go figure. Half and half, which is fried potatoes and onions shaggy with batter, is awfully greasy. The cottage fries, which resemble stiff homemade potato chips, are better. And if you’re considering spinach, skip the creamed spinach oozing butter in favor of the leaf spinach. I also like the green beans aglio e olio--cooked in garlic and olive oil.

The Palm, perhaps because of its Italian roots, doesn’t emphasize wine as much as the other top steakhouse chains do, though it offers plenty of expensive Cabernets and Merlots. The list just doesn’t have many older vintages or truly interesting bottles. If you want to spend a bundle and order that $1,100 bottle of 1982 Lafite Rothschild, you’ll have to drink it out of the Palm’s clunky glasses or bring your own. The best of the 15 wines available by the glass is the 1996 Badia a Passignano Chianti Classico from Antinori.

My friend the Palm regular has one last bit of advice: Order the New York cheesecake. The tall, unadorned wedge with a fine texture and tangy, not-too-sweet flavor is terrific. At the Palm, it pays to stick to the basics. It also pays to eat there with someone who knows the restaurant well because the menu has more than the usual pitfalls for the uninitiated. But if your idea of living high means steak and lobster and you’re all for excess, then the Palm just might be for you.

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THE PALM

CUISINE: Steakhouse. AMBIENCE: Clubby, crowded, noisy dining room with ceiling fans, wood booths and walls plastered with caricatures. BEST DISHES: Blue crab salad, shrimp cocktail, New York strip, lobster, New York cheesecake. WINE PICKS: 1996 Ridge “Lytton Springs” Zinfandel; 1996 Domaine Drouhin Pinot Noir, Oregon. FACTS: 9001 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles; (310) 550-8811. Dinner nightly; lunch weekdays. Starters, $4 to $18; main courses, $15 to $54; sides, $5 to $9. Corkage $10. Valet parking.