Spago's Almond Upside-Down Cake

From a 1994 episode of Saturday Night Live, featuring the Baldwin family, Kim Basinger then included, as contestants on Family Feud:

Ray Combs: Kim! Join me over here, you have fifteen seconds! [Kim follows Ray to the center of the set.] One hundred people surveyed—Go! [Clock begins ticking.] A place you might go for a birthday.

Kim Basinger: Spago.

Ray Combs: Something you do before leaving work.

Kim Basinger: Call Spago!

Ray Combs: Something you might read on a bus.

Kim Basinger: Spago’s menu!

Ray Combs: A place where you might look for a lost sock.

Kim Basinger: Spago!

Ray Combs: And, someone you might call while on vacation.

Kim Basinger: Mike Ovitz!

[The Baldwins cheer]

In the rapid world of restaurant turnaround, especially in a town as finnicky and trend-crazy as Los Angeles, Beverly Hills is where a small handful of local institutions will die when Neiman Marcus freezes over. Which, sure, is actually a distinct possibility in this economic climate. Nonetheless, still alive and kicking are restaurants whose glitter-and-glam reputation precedes their culinary one: The Ivy, Mr. Chow, Kate Mantilini, and so on.

And then there’s Spago, an anomaly that’s both so ’90s, but still so relevant. There are banquettes with dated geometric patterns, menus and wall art decorated with illustrations of a rotund grape-picker, and the weirdest motley crew of diners I’ve seen in a while—and this is Los Angeles, for chrissake. Last night, when I went out with a small group to celebrate my friend Frances’ birthday, I observed a diner in a Union Jack blazer cradling his tutu-outfitted daughter, an older, white-suited man chatting up his disaffected date (easily 20 years his junior), and a rakish Peter Facinelli lookalike doing the same with his blonde buddy, but with much more success.

At a lot of restaurants these days, it’s hard to tell whether the food, the chef, or the scene is the star. In Spago’s case, it’s all three: solid dishes, fearless leader Wolfgang Puck, and Beverly Hills’ best, worst, and strangest patrons. Our group sampled everything from miniature beet layer cakes to seared tuna with fennel and a tomato confit (my choice) to almond upside-down cake with raspberries, figs, and housemade gelato. Spago consistently earns a Michelin star-rating, and witnessing sous chefs bust ass through the exposed kitchen, it’s easy to see—but more importantly, taste—why.

Just before dessert arrived, Wolfgang emerged to individually introduce himself to the remaining diners, which is something I wish more chefs would do whether they’re of his celebrity stature or not. So there you have it; last night I got Puck-ed, and it was good for me.