By Dave Faries

Staff Writer

Transported to some hip corner in Los Angeles, Oliva would pass for an of-the-moment lounge. It's dressed in campy green silk screened with a pattern curiously similar to that worn by Batman's mod-generation nemesis, the Riddler. Beads and stained glass accent the place, a buzzworthy chef works the kitchen, and a suggestive cluster of seats wait in the back for those keen to be noticed by the crowd without being of the crowd.

Everything except the well-worn floor suggests "hotspot." Yet, after three months, Oliva draws little more than a steady weeknight dose of neighborhood types.

That's a plus for now, as diners who are crowded or hurried may miss out on some of chef Rudolf Doležal's expressions of flavor and texture. Take, for instance, the tomato tarte tatin. Grilled slivers of tomato are slightly sweet, with a hint of smokiness lurking somewhere in each bite. Layers of roasted garlic deepen the flavors, adding an earthy, vegetal edge. The combination sits atop a dry biscuit in a pool of tart lemon sauce surrounded by fillets of red mullet. So the entire presentation dances between sweet and tart and smoky. The play of textures is also noteworthy; even the sauce contributes a gritty background. In one little appetizer, Doležal has managed to address just about every culinary sensation.

Creamy saffron sauce provides a dense base for tagliatelle with tiger prawns. Fresh basil and Kalamata olives scattered throughout the mound of old gold pasta tug your palate in opposite directions. A simple arugula salad neatly balances fresh leaves, caramelized onions, pine nuts and a balsamic dressing that rides in the backseat, always present but not in control.

These are plates to linger over, savoring that elusive bit of seasoning, assessing for yourself the successes and failures. Off-moments were rare on two visits. Grilled duck breast is served with a polenta cake that may be too dry and firm for some tastes. But the ground corn buffers good, gamy slices of meat, and the balsamic reduction, applied sparingly, carries an undertone of cherry. It's very rich, very sharp and a nice accompaniment to the duck.

Tuna ordered rare emerged from the kitchen with a suspiciously thick edge of dull, white overcooked meat and a shimmering red center. A thick cut of tuna will hold onto its tight, firm structure for an instant before melting away on the tongue. Sliced very thin, however, the rare middle portion proved almost greasy.

But the Dijon sauce served alongside — now that was something interesting. Sharp, as one would expect, but with a sudden dry finish. There's something in the interaction of fennel with mustard that tarries behind the tangy blast, then stretches out and draws down the shades.

Would anyone notice an effect so subtle in a crowded room full of noise and distraction? Likely not. But this restaurant deserves lines out the door. Owner Petr Červenka claims he sensed a vibe when first stepping into the space vacated by Le Bistrot de Marlene. Chef Doležal earned a reputation for intriguing flavors at La Perle de Prague and Atelier.

And the details almost define "trendy." Three small cups waiting on every table are filled with samples of olive oil from Spain, Italy and Greece when bread arrives. It's an entirely unnecessary touch befitting a restaurant dedicated to the stimulating possibilities of simplicity. The beef consumme offers another example. For something consisting mostly of water, it's rich and satisfying. Floating herbs brighten the experience.

Homemade chocolate ice cream, served alone, is fine. Sprinkled with a little sea salt, the dessert explodes. Better yet, try the warm chocolate gateau with pistachio sauce.

Mirrors on either wall list popular cocktails of the Sex on the Beach ilk. Stick with beer or wine (several are offered by the glass), and finish with one of the two grappas in stock.

As for the olive oil: No added herbs, just plain old residue of pressed olive tasting sweet and almost chewy (Spanish), fruity (Italian) or robust, like a big cabernet (Greek). Nothing to them, really. But they bring an unexpected distinction suddenly made clear, a burst of awareness: Ah, the genius of simple things.