RESTAURANTS : SAMPLING THE MENU AT MATTEO’S

From Gaylord Hauser’s health tips for the stars (fresh vegetable espresso on the set at 4 p.m.) to power breakfasts (less is more) the quest for health (beauty/leanness) turns up all over town. But ya gotta eat. How do Hollywood Wives go out every night and still stay in good shape? I called my informant Blanche, a svelte Hollywood Wife-in-the-Know, who regularly dines out (and doesn’t spend her days at Jane Fonda’s).

“All you have to do is tell the waiter what you want,” she said with a laugh, “and remind him to bring an extra fork for the dessert.” And at what special haunts does she steal small bites of cake? “We love to go to Matteo’s. It’s like a club, we run into everyone in the business and the kitchen will fix anything you want.”

Off we went to see if we too could dine like the wives of moguls. Someone was shooting a commercial outside the door, someone else was getting out of a stretch limousine. Matteo’s is a hideaway: dark red booths, bordello-red walls, surely the tackiest oil paintings in town. It’s ultra cozy with low pink lighting, yet it was bright enough to see Larry Flynt at the next table surrounded by his entourage. The large menu (a puzzle for newcomers), needs to be explained. What, for example, is Manicotti Dolly Parton, Steak and Peppers Buddy Monash, or Fettucine J.R.K.? Is either Veal Presidente Zucchini Arnold Price or Veal Raskin fairly low in calories? Our absolutely professional, fully tuxedoed waiter was less than fascinated by our desire to learn the ropes, vanishing just as we asked what exactly was this Chicken Beckerman.

We were very careful to specify “easy on the oil” and here’s how things turned out. Both the broccoli salad and the scungilli and calamari salad were heady with garlic and lemon--light on the oil--and divine. When we asked about the whole wheat Pritikin pasta Steve Wynn, and were told, “You don’t want it,” we moved on to the Primavera Konheim. Although the waiter initially swore it was “just vegetables” he later concurred that yes, it did have “a little bit of cream.” Whoever Konheim is, he got stuck with an inferior dish: good pasta and multifarious vegetables ruined by an artless sauce that tasted like canned tomato soup.

Huge scampi came in a sparkling lemon-garlic-parsley-tad of butter sauce. Blanche’s favorite Chicken Beckerman turned out to be half a baked chicken, streaming with parsley as if it were at a New England clam bake, and surrounded with onions and potatoes. If the onions and potatoes had been baked as the waiter said, then they’d also had a sojourn in the drippings pan. Not a low-calorie dish, but perhaps one needs to be more severe with the waiter. (“You break out in fat.”)

Next time I went to Matteo’s with Blanche and her mogul in tow. Our waiter and the mogul rolled their eyes as Blanche and I ordered the pasta Pritikin. “No oil, no salt, no cream, no taste,” he said. We differed: It was clear, fresh, loaded with vegetables and plenty of taste. Meaty roasted peppers with anchovies came, as ordered, with oil and vinegar on the side. My plain grilled veal chop was thick, juicy, succulent (and pricey), Blanche’s broiled whitefish was crusty and superb--gently floating on a butter sauce. The mogul’s special order of veal, peppers and sausages was really good too.

Then, espresso and velvety cheesecake for the power breakfaster, and hot water with lemon (no herb tea available!) and a bowl of fresh raspberries for me and the Hollywood Wife. And an extra fork. Make that two.

Matteo’s, 2321 Westwood Blvd., Los Angeles, (213) 475-4521. Open for dinner only, Tuesdays-Sundays. Reservations suggested. Full bar. Valet parking. All major credit cards. Dinner for two (food only): $45-$95.