Energy enough to shout about

THE plate of grass-green olives and next to them, almonds covered in a silt of burnt-orange spices, is irresistible. What is that? Cumin? Paprika? Uh-oh -- the plate’s already empty and my friends and I haven’t even begun to think about ordering. After two refills of olives and almonds, we’re feasting on steamed clams with paprika-streaked chorizo in a deliciously spicy broth. We’re dipping wonderful pink shrimp into a decisive aioli and fighting over who gets to eat the last bit of grilled cheese sandwich topped with guanciale and fried egg fired up with a little harissa, the North African hot sauce.

Take some of the best dishes from A.O.C., Hungry Cat, Nancy Silverton’s tartine nights and/or her antipasti night at La Terza, toss them in the air like pick-up sticks, let them fall willy-nilly and what have you got? The menu at Biggs, a casual new Mediterranean spot with -- despite the name -- a small-plates concept. Er, make that medium, because everything here is big enough to share with one or more.

If any more proof is needed that the restaurant energy and innovation is happening in the neighborhoods, take a look, but preferably a meal, at Biggs in Belmont Shore on the outskirts of Long Beach. Long Beach? That’s right: It’s not a town that’s particularly known for its dining scene, but here comes Biggs.

The low-key facade is hard to spot on a street bristling with gaudy signs. On a first visit, we walk up and down a couple of blocks three times until we finally notice the tall slots of windows in front. Inside, the sound is loud to the point of deafening, but you have to give it points for being lively and fun. And unpretentious.

Informal rules

THE policy is strictly no reservations, so unless you go on a slow night or on the early side, you’re almost always going to have to wait for a table, if only for a few minutes. While we wait I study the shelves near the entrance stocked with fleur de sel, bags of farro, Latini pasta and a few other token groceries. There’s also a deli case in the corner filled with attractive antipasti and salads on long white plates. I wonder whether they’re merely eye candy, meant to convey a sense of abundance and invite you into the restaurant, because they’re picture perfect and untouched. A massive display of La Brea Bakery breads adds a touch of rusticity.

The space is long and narrow, divided in two by open shelves displaying a designerly collection of vintage ceramics. Sleek black ceiling fans rotate overhead. It’s a midcentury-meets-the-loft look.

The crew of adorable young waiters in black T-shirts and aprons circulates energetically through the room. When the place first opened in September, they all seemed earnest, like students who wished they’d boned up more on this foreign language of food they were still struggling to master. Now they’re in the groove and when someone at my table asks what guanciale is, our waiter fires right back with “cured pork cheek.”

The grilled sandwich adorned by that cheek could be my new great love. But then there are those strikingly thin “petite” fries erupting from a cone-shaped holder. They’re like skinny potato chips, hot and crisp, just begging to be dipped in the accompanying aioli-like sauce.

Butter lettuce salad is a lovely bouquet of the pale leaves, along with a little peppery cress, some pungent Point Reyes blue cheese, toasted almonds and slices of ripe, juicy red butter pears.

It’s actually hard to strike out on this menu. Everything is better than you expect. Take the seafood in parchment. It’s real parchment paper, not the aluminum foil that some cooks think works just as well. Unwrap it like a package, and you find a fragrant heap of shrimp, scallops, fish and herbs inside. Salumi meatballs, cloaked in melted cheese, are quite tasty, with a beautiful firm texture. And those cippollini onions, caramelized until they’re soft as butter, and wrapped in a covering of mellow “cave-aged” Gruyere, go down very easy.

We’re having a fine time, mixing appetizers with what would normally be main courses, ordering dishes as they catch our fancy and watching Long Beach hipsters parade back and forth to the small bar and improvised art gallery at the back. (Good thing, because when the music is cranked up, the only way to talk is to lean across the table and shout. Or else dust off your sign language skills.)

But when the Jidori chicken breast comes out wearing lemon and capers, this updated version of piccata gets all our attention. It’s gone in a flash.

Pork is braised until it resembles pulled pork, it’s so falling-off-the-bone tender, and what a nice idea to define it with gremolata, the classic mix of lemon zest and parsley that usually goes on osso buco.

Grilled sirloin, at $23 the priciest thing on the menu, is worth every penny, its beefy goodness set off with a ribbon of chimichurri, the Argentine green sauce of parsley, garlic and vinegar. Don’t imagine a hefty steak though: This one comes sliced in small medallions.

The one thing that seems odd is the bread. In a place that makes an appetizing display of bread part of the design concept, you can’t get any plain. The only bread on offer is grilled as a side order for $2. Dishes with lots of juices -- like that bowl of clams and chorizo-- come with just a couple of skinny toasts, more as a garnish. When they’re gone, you’re left with all that juice or sauce just begging for some bread to sop it up. But by the time you’ve flagged down the waiter, called for bread, and the kitchen gets around to grilling it, you’ve already moved on to something else.

Biggs also has quite the wine routine, proposing a mere 10 wines on the minimalist list and serving wine in glass tumblers, the same type used for water. There’s not a piece of stemware in the house. I understand that they want to create a casual, unfussy atmosphere with tables covered in paper instead of cloth, but surely there’s a better solution than tumblers. If you were going to order one of the two highest priced wines, Roth Cabernet Sauvignon or Domaines Ott rose for $50, you’d want a better glass. On the plus side, there are several very drinkable wines for $20 a bottle. A bottle of table red (Jake’s Fault Shiraz) is just $15.

Welcome to the neighborhood

DESPITE its address, Biggs has all sorts of Los Angeles restaurant scene connections. The owner, Bret Witke, did the redesign of Jar and initially brought in Nancy Silverton to consult, but when the project was delayed, Silverton bowed out and Witke drafted Amy Pressman, former owner of Pasadena’s Old Town Bakery, to conceive the menu. She also found the chef, Seth Greenburg, who was sous chef at Meson G. In the end, Silverton helped out by sourcing some of the ingredients, like the Italian cured meats from Mario Batali’s father, Armandino.

Biggs is so foreign to the Long Beach scene it might as well have dropped down from the moon. There’s nothing like it here, and I don’t think the neighborhood quite knows what it’s got. Yet. The food is casual and it’s also serious -- Mediterranean, but the real Mediterranean, with a California twist. The restaurant does have its drawbacks for wine lovers in the lack of a real list and stemware. And the noise level is a problem. If they turned down the head-banging music just a tad -- nobody’s asking for Tony Bennett here -- it would be a good, even a neighborly, thing to do.

Because this restaurant has the menu and offbeat spirit to keep you interested time after time, which is exactly what’s needed in a neighborhood place.

*

Biggs

Rating: **

Location: 4722 E. 2nd St., Long Beach, (562) 434-1313.

Ambience: Casual contemporary Mediterranean restaurant with small plates menu. Up front is a display of breads and antipasti, and a few gourmet groceries for sale. There’s also a small bar in back.

Service: Enthusiastic and warm, if sometimes disorganized, from a personable young staff.

Price: Dishes, $8 to $23; brunch dishes, $8 to $14; desserts, $9.

Best dishes: Salumi plate, peeled wild shrimp, clams with chorizo, seafood in parchment, butter lettuce salad, grilled cheese with guanciale and fried egg, petite fries, Jidori chicken breast, grilled sirloin with chimichurri, brown butter tart.

Wine list: Minimalist, with fewer than 10 wines by the bottle, from $15 (table red) to $50. Corkage, $10.

Best table: One in the corner, where it might be a bit quieter.

Details: Open daily, 11 a.m. to 2 a.m. Full bar. Street and free lot parking.

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.