Off 3rd Street, and into another world

I’m outside the Little Door waiting for the valet to bring my car around when three twentysomethings emerge from the margarita-mad bar El Carmen up the block. As they pass by, I hear one give his out-of-town friends the lowdown on the restaurant. “Incredibly romantic,” he says, sidling up to the heavy, carved Moroccan door and peering in.

Of course, like any spot with pretension-to-hipster credentials, there’s no sign. Only a string of cobalt blue Christmas lights threaded through a lush vine. And that door, which opens on a magical courtyard strung with chandeliers and flowering vines. A tiled fountain gurgles on one wall and candles are ablaze on every table. This open-air dining room welcomes smokers, and if the crowd isn’t made up of actual Europeans, they’re the next closest thing: wine drinkers who know how to swirl their glasses and dine late.

In the corner, garden benches softened with blue-striped cushions fence in a long wooden table that’s perfect for a party. And at the outdoor bar, the bartender splashes some white wine into a little creme de cassis to make a kir. Somewhere between the beats of the French techno music, I hear the pop of a Champagne cork.

With its collage of flea market finds and antiques and French doors thrown open to a series of charming dining rooms, the Little Door has captured the spirit of the south of France like a firefly in a jar. The attitude is French. The waiters are mostly French. The menu covers France and the sun-drenched Mediterranean. Only the address is 3rd Street.

Coveted garden spot

Getting a table in the garden is never certain. Call up, and a hostess with a sultry French accent will note your request, but won’t promise anything. Sometimes you can walk right in and find a table. Other times, you’ll have a long wait, and if you don’t enjoy people smoking at the next table, you may prefer one of the other rooms.

Chef T. Nicolas Peter, an American, cooks to a Mediterranean beat. In a dozen appetizers and about the same number of main courses, the Little Door’s menu takes diners on a whirlwind tour of France, Italy, Spain, the Middle East and Morocco. It’s wonderful to see a larger swath of the Mediterranean represented instead of the usual France-Italy axis. The downside is that the flavors are barely sketched in and the products, despite a gloss of farmers market produce, aren’t always the quality that would justify these kinds of prices.

Service is swift and verges on the brusque. As soon as you sit down, a server appears with a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil at the ready. Only it’s not very good olive oil. It’s not even good bread. Maybe -- maybe -- I can see dipping the bread in an exquisite extra virgin olive oil in order to taste the oil, but when the oil is just a pool of grease, it’s pointless.

On a sultry night, chilled cucumber soup decorated with a swirl of creme fraiche makes a lovely starter. Another is the trio of roasted beets -- gold, red and pink -- cut in thick slices and accompanied by fennel salad in a roasted garlic vinaigrette. The beets could be more flavorful, but at the Little Door, you quickly learn not to ask too much. A refreshing salad of sliced avocado and orange segments with fresh asparagus is perfectly fine too. As is the grilled marinated calamari with green beans and tomato.

Steamed black mussels should be a slam dunk, but one night they’re rubbery and have a slightly funky bouquet, enough to push the plate away. Mezze are an embarrassment: a plate of soggy spinach and filo pie, eggplant puree, hummus and various other dispiriting bites with pasty pita bread. Moroccan greens are simply ordinary salad greens strewn with bland canned chickpeas and julienned carrots. The preserved lemon is a nice touch, though. The sharp, vinegary artichokes in the generous marinated baby artichoke salad could easily have come from a large industrial can too. Even with some shaved Manchego cheese on top, $15 seems a steep tab for such a sorry salad.

And so it goes. It’s very hard to get a handle on what’s going on here. One night the meal is nothing to rave about, but OK. On another, almost every dish is inedible and though we hardly eat, no one ever wonders why. On a third visit, the cooking is much more focused and competent, but compromised by the quality of the meat and fish; I’m left wondering if this was the only occasion of the three when the chef was actually there.

Uneven entrees

The best main course I had was the seven-vegetable couscous in which turnip and squash dominate. The couscous is fluffy and tender and you can doctor the blandness of the dish with a little harissa and a sweet-tart onion confit that functions like a chutney. Couscous “Royal” doesn’t come off as too royal, mostly because of the indifferent merguez sausage and tasteless lamb.

I couldn’t make the same complaint about the duck breast another night, though. It was so dominated by lavender, it was like eating a straight dose of potpourri. Smoked chicken and morel risotto is so pasty it may be the worst I’ve ever had. Ahi tuna is coated in gooey tahini. Veal scaloppine has the mushy texture of something run through a tire-treading machine and is incredibly floury to boot. However, the wide pappardelle noodles that come with it are delicious.

The rib-eye steak is a good cut of beef, accented only with sea salt from Brittany, cracked black peppercorns and a smattering of herbs. Rack of lamb passes muster, too. Most main courses come with exactly the same vegetables. Again, you don’t expect this kind of laziness at these prices.

Suffice it to say the wine list has been put together more with an eye for profit than to offer customers the best of France and the Mediterranean.

One night we ordered a bottle of Guigal Chateauneuf-du-Pape and when it came we noticed that the ullage, or level of the wine in the bottle, was low. We also noticed that the capsule had already been removed. The server reluctantly admitted another table had refused the bottle. The correct thing to do would have been to serve the bottle as wine by the glass, not try to foist it off on another table without saying anything.

The owners of the Little Door seem to think it’s enough to be French and endow their restaurant with a stage set for romance. Forget about buying top-quality ingredients, or hiring a staff that can consistently turn out excellent food. As it is, I suspect the chef is working with a high handicap: not enough help and not enough buying power. That enchanting atmosphere can only go so far.

*

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The Little Door

The Little Door

Rating: 1/2 star

Location: 8164 W. 3rd Street, Los Angeles; (323) 951-1210.

Ambience: An enchanting, intimate restaurant that feels like somewhere in the south of France, with its open-air courtyard, outdoor bar and series of little dining rooms, all shimmering in candlelight.

Service: So efficient it feels very like being rushed out the door.

Price: Appetizers, $9 to $25; main courses, $24 to $32; cheese, $22; desserts, $9.

Best dishes: Chilled cucumber soup; avocado, orange and asparagus salad; grilled marinated calamari; seven-vegetable couscous; grilled rib-eye steak; rack of lamb.

Wine list: Uninspired, given the flood of country wines on the market that would perfectly suit the Mediterranean cuisine. Corkage, $20.

Best table: The long country table outfitted with blue-striped cushions in a corner of the garden.

Special features: Smoking permitted in the open-air dining room. A back room has a Provencal-style fireplace smoldering on even the warmest evenings.

Details: Open Sunday to Wednesday, 6 to 11 p.m.; Thursday to Saturday, 6 p.m. to midnight. Sunday brunch, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Valet parking, $4.50.

Rating is based on food, service and ambience, with price taken into account in relation to quality. ****: Outstanding on every level. ***: Excellent. **: Very good. *: Good. No star: Poor to satisfactory.