We're
back on the Riviera
REVIEW: Timeless
cuisine is still available at a relocated classic.
December 18, 1998
By ELIZABETH
EVANS
Special to the Register
In the middle of this century, because of a new dam at Aswan, present-day Egyptians
were forced to move an ancient temple brick by brick to higher ground.
The outcome is a feat of engineering genius. But until you walk behind the facade at
Abu Simbel and see the massive workings of the monument, you might not ever know that
these impressive edifices have not stood in that place for millennia.
I'm reminded of that while sitting in a cushy booth at Riviera at the Fireside. The
dining room of the Riviera was moved earlier this year to the digs of the formerly popular
Fireside restaurant in Westminster, when the Riviera was forced to move from South Coast
Plaza to make room for a theme eatery.
The transformation is so complete that it's impossible to think that this remodel was
made in this decade. The setting is like something out of a Frank Sinatra movie, complete
with a glistening, fully stocked bar, black leatherette booths and a highly professional,
tuxedo-wearing wait staff.
"You'd never know to look at this place," said Perry Jehangiri, who made the
move with the rest of the staff, "but three months ago this was a sports bar."
I like that, despite the renovation, they didn't attempt to bring the decor up to date,
or dress the staff in jeans and open-neck shirts. There's a certain style to staying your
ground, even when the real estate has changed.
Best of all, for those who have stayed loyal to Riviera in its three-plus decades in
business, the menu is also unchanged. Many of the salads, entrees and desserts are flamed
or tossed table side. And at dinner there's a delightful display of hors d'oeuvres,
including dilled cucumbers and the house's smooth pate, brought to the table with a basket
of warm bread.
I start one night with a two-olive martini ($4.50), which comes from the bar with
little crystals of ice still clinging to the classic long-stemmed glass.
I sip that as steak tartare ($7.50 per person, for two or more) is painstakingly made
at our table. The waiter tosses in just enough capers and measures out the ingredients
like an alchemist. Mr. Perfect is so confident he doesn't even guide the process. He's
deep in conversation, and besides, he says later, "the guy knows what he's
doing."
The result is a brilliant red mound of raw meat served on pungent slices of rye toast.
And for those who like to live on the wild side, it's a don't-miss here.
Or you could just start with an elaborate salad. I like the clam- shell-shaped hearts
of lettuce salad ($5). It's iceberg lettuce topped with a serious vinaigrette house
dressing and crumbled Danish bleu cheese. There's also a citrusy Caesar ($11 for two) with
a touch of anchovy made with great deliberation by the staff. And warm spinach salad ($12
for two) is flamed in a rich bacon dressing also at the table. Ours had a pleasing
tartness to it. But friends said theirs was oily the night they tried it. But that one
misstep wasn't so bad; they said they'd be back.
The draw for them, and me, are wonderfully prepared dishes including the pepper steak
($20.95) in a creamy peppercorn sauce, while the steak Diane flambe ($20.95) is a museum
quality original.
Coq a vin ($17.25) is also done the old-fashioned way. No, not with the blood of a
rooster, that's a little too authentic, but the bone-in chicken is served in a robust wine
sauce with big juicy mushrooms. Frog legs in garlic butter ($17.95) are so easy to eat,
you have to wonder how the palate of America would have been different if Colonel Sanders
had decided to plop these intriguing appendages into his deep-fat fryer.
The fish of the day is served in sauce Veronique, a lovely creation of butter, wine and
white grapes. It's also served that way at lunch. Midday here is an oasis away from the
madness of the clogged-freeway-work-a-day world outside.
The same tuxedoed wait staff works the room, and the menu includes a couple of
sandwiches, including a decadent Monte Cristo ($8.50), as well as entrees served in
smaller portions.
This was my chance to try the scampi Riviera ($17.50), fat prawns butterflied and
served in pesto butter and wrapped in thin sheets of prosciutto. True to the maxim that
you never get enough shrimp in a serving, there are only about a half-dozen on my plate,
but the flavor is so rich, that's really all I need. However, my dining companions would
tell you that I was a little stingy when it came time to share with them.
One of those designated diners sees liver saute ($11.95) on the list and knows he's
come home. He sends me a bite of the crisp-on-the-outside meat with a bit of the sweet
sauteed onions, along with a pebble-size sauteed potato. The mix is a good one that stands
the test of time.
My friend Rose, whose dad made the best spaghetti in the neighborhood when she was
growing up, ordered the Cannelloni Nicoise ($11.50). She knew from the name that she
wasn't going to get the kind of food her Southern Italian father cooked for her, and she
was right. These cannelloni filled with a spinach mix are more like a casserole souffle
than the stuffed crepes of an Italian kitchen.
The Grumpy Gourmet settled into our booth that day for lunch and looked contentedly
around the dining room. She could sense that no goat cheese or truffle oil would be used
here. That made her very happy.
Her steak sandwich ($12.50) was done to order and the top sirloin is premium steak
house quality.
The wine list is an easy one. It's on the short side, but the wines are appropriately
priced and from relatively well-known winemakers. While a true oenophile might choose to
call ahead regarding corkage, for my money, the Clos du Bois merlot ($30) and the Grgich
Hills Zinfandel ($27.50), are fine choices for this timeless cuisine.
