Reinventing, for the big wheels

JUST before noon on Fridays, the valets are lined up outside Spago like a chorus line ready to go on stage. Friday lunch is big. Very big. And at the holidays, even bigger.

Friday’s the day when all the regulars come out, reserving the same table with the same people week after week, year after year. The most coveted are on the outdoor patio, where, even in late December, the sky above is blue and the olive trees lean over the tables, whispering silver in a slight breeze.

As car after car glides to a stop out front, the doors open and the passengers alight, the 8-year-old Beverly Hills restaurant begins to feel like a happening. Here a star, there a star, along with the city’s movers and shakers, both present and past.

“Isn’t that ... “ you begin to say, but it’s really beside the point. Fridays are a delirious circus. There’s Wolfgang Puck himself, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, making the rounds, saying hello to customers, now friends, who have been following the chef from his days as a wunderkind at Ma Maison. Minutes later, Barbara Lazaroff, Puck’s flamboyant partner (and ex-wife), resplendent in red, makes the same circuit, stopping to kiss the gentlemen and banter with the wives and girlfriends.

While I sip a lovely Chenin Blanc from South Africa and my husband tries the Chardonnay made by Spago sommelier Kevin O’Connor, the table next to us goes for martinis all ‘round. I hear them telling the waiter they’d like some of Puck’s famous smoked salmon pizza ... and then spaghetti and meatballs. (This I’ve never even noticed on the menu.)

On the other side, a table of dapper older gentlemen savor their schnitzels.

I’d come fully intending to order something simple, but not after I heard some of the dishes on executive chef Lee Hefter’s tasting menu that day. How could we pass up veal cheek or Scottish pheasant? In for a penny, in for a pound. And already, the hors d’oeuvres were arriving one after one -- a miniature tartlet made with osetra caviar, a bite of foie gras “pastrami” between two wafer-thin rye crisps, a tiny morsel of bacon en croute.

We’re both fully in TGIF mode now. Next come scallops just in from Maine, sliced thin and raw like carpaccio, layered with ochre uni and topped with finely sliced matsutake mushrooms and a squirt of yuzu.

Agnolotti the size of postage stamps, the kind they make in Piedmont and call plin (“pinch”), are filled with mascarpone and cauliflower, tossed in butter and covered in the first really excellent white truffles I’ve had this year.

MY husband gets Scottish wild pheasant, which is as moist as anything, topped with a thatch of the season’s first black truffles and served with a shepherd’s pie of game. I have a duo described as tongue and cheek -- of veal, that is, both incredibly unctuous and rich, with some black truffle shaved over.

We still have some Burgundy to finish, so we have some cheese. Why not? It’s Friday. We agonize over which to choose but make out extremely well with some perfect Epoisses, a Tete de Moine shaved with a special utensil into something resembling a scrap of Fortuny fabric and some chalky goat cheeses.

We thought we could get away without dessert. Not possible when pastry chef Sherry Yard is making sticky toffee pudding. Served warm, it comes with a gorgeous dark caramel sauce and various other fixings on the theme of oranges.

Whoops, it’s already past 3. Hardly anybody else has left yet either. The bar is full. No worries.

Over espresso, we think how nice it would be to make this something regular. Once a week, say.

My husband merely arches his eyebrow.

OK, once a month.

*

Spago

Where: 176 N. Canon Drive, Beverly Hills

When: Lunch, 11:30 to 2:30 p.m. Mondays to Fridays; noon to 2:15 p.m., Saturdays. Full bar. Valet parking.

Cost: Lunch first courses, $15 to $38; pizzas and calzone, $15 to $20; main courses, $18 to $46; desserts, $12

Info: (310) 385-0880