Restaurants : GOING FOR THE GUSTO, ITALIAN STYLE

I’m out with those guys again, Bob and Carl, the Woodward and Bernstein of the fitness world, trying out two restaurants, and arguing about memory. “Listen, all I wanted was ordinary pleasure: a comfortable booth, some good service, a room where people are having a good time,” Bob says.

“But we didn’t have any memorable meals,” I say. Carl simply smirks. He put his finger on the jackpot at both restaurants--and had some tasty food.

The boys and I were out sleuthing at Italia and Paesano, two Westside restaurants owned by Benito Prezia. Both have comfortable booths, great zabaglione and a loyal clientele. Italia’s the upscale brother, the “Continental” one with a chandelier, reservations and the nicest busboy. Everything’s all pale pink and mirrors, a sort of ‘50s movie version of a luxury restaurant with cushy Chesterfield couch booths. Yet it’s not expensive: every entree (all a la carte) is under the $10 mark.

Paesano, on the other hand, is your typical neighborhood Italian joint, with garish pink walls, posters and happy din, a piano player jamming out “Exodus” and other hits several nights a week. Ten dollars can just about buy you a full dinner, if you order conservatively.

While the ambiance differs, the menus do overlap. We tried several of the same dishes at both locales and found them prepared differently. At Italia, Carl’s perfectly exquisite calamaretti fritti had the sheerest breading on the most tender squid while at Paesano, the thick grumpy batter made the appetizer only pedestrian. Mussels versilia, an Italia special, came in a glorious tomato garlic broth. The Paesano cousin, baked mussels oreganate, lacked the muscle of garlic to bring it up to par. Tortellini in brodo over at Italia were tender little packets in a salty soup--fried tortellini at Paesano were unforgivably brittle (served with a nice tomato coulis). For the first course, Italia wins hands down.

“You’re so critical,” Bob said. “Don’t you remember how nice everyone was?” I remember it well. Italia’s staff takes you in hand. The major domo waiter-host is 100% restaurant bred, guiding you through the meal. The busboy turns the act of sprinkling grated Parmesan into a tender “La Strada” scene.

Carl remembers the hot frothy zabaglione at both restaurants. “But we’re not up to dessert,” I say. “Well, those vegetables were sure nattily cooked,” he says. “And at Paesano, they know how to do fish.” Yes, that’s true. One of several dishes prepared without salt or fat (others can be so done on request), the whitefish was juicy and beautifully cooked, a special red snapper Mediterranean with olive oil, tomatoes, black olives and capers was succulently, lightly sauteed. And the owner Benito Prezia, who presides at Paesano, reminded us to stir the wonderful linguine and mussel delight.

Back at Italia, where the entrees frankly remind me of the first “Continental” meals I had in my teens, the Caesar salad was logy and overdressed, the croutons pale and boring. Bob liked the scampi and spiedini combination--but then he tends to like anything heavily fried--with really good bread for mopping it up. The brandy-flambeed chicken was the kind of food you had at Sweet Sixteen parties at New York restaurants in the 1960s, the kind of food a 16-year-old thinks must be sophisticated but doesn’t really like (because it doesn’t really have much taste). The scallopine with eggplant piccata sauce tasted too “white,” needed an edge. Carl managed to have the tastiest--and simplest--dish: a sauteed vegetable plate. And his spaghetti arrabbiata came with a properly zingy sauce.

“We were so well taken care of there,” Bob says, “and it was a great quiet place to talk. They let us sit there all night.” True, I mutter, but how about that mocha cake with the butter-cream frosting that tasted like Land o’ Lakes? “You’ve eaten birthday cake before,” Carl frowned. “Tell them to have the zabaglione. It’s superb.”

Wait a minute, we’re still not up to dessert. Paesano has really good homemade canelloni, the cloudlike kind, and it does good renditions of both minestrone and eggplant parmigiana too. Skip the veal and peppers; even though the sauce is just right, the veal has absolutely no taste. Go for the ordinary pleasures--a room full of gusto, lots of food at low prices--and, finally, a zabaglione that’s really good enough to eat.

Italia, 1909 Wilshire Blvd., Santa Monica. (213) 453-3333. Open for dinner Tuesday-Sunday. Reservations suggested. Full bar. Dinner for two, food only, $35-$55.

Paesano, 1076 S. Fairfax Ave., Los Angeles. (213) 936-5918. Open for dinner Tuesday-Sunday. No reservations. Parking in lot behind. Full bar. Dinner for two, food only, $25-$50.