Miller's Crossing

Loongbar
Power Building, Ghirardelli Square, Beach near Polk, 771-6800. Open daily from 6 to 10 p.m., weekends until 10:30 p.m. Beginning May 21, open for lunch daily 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. The restaurant is wheelchair accessible. Reservations strongly advised. Parking: street parking difficult; use the Ghirardelli garage (Beach, east of Polk). Muni via the 19 Polk, 30 Stockton, 42 Downtown Loop, and 47 and 49 Van Ness.

Sometimes it's Auntie Em coming to town, or the July Fourth fireworks at the Wharf, or maybe a Cost Plus expedition to pick up that charming little wine you tasted in the Dolomite Alps. Or perhaps it's just the shamefaced pleasure of revisiting the scenery that lands you in Ghirardelli Square, so don't hold it against Loongbar that it's there, too.

Loongbar's ambitious food is anything but Wharf-ish: The chef in chief, Mark Miller, one of the first batch of Chez Panisse grads, was among those responsible for the Southwestern food fad of the '80s, developing it at Fourth Street Grill in Berkeley and then at his acclaimed Coyote Cafe in Santa Fe and Red Sage in D.C. His new venture, creating a Pan-Asian menu at Loongbar (owned by the Real Restaurants group, of Fog City Diner, Buckeye Roadhouse, Rio Grill, etc.), is obviously a major shift in culinary focus; Miller prepared for it by traveling around Asia, collecting decor pieces, and, no doubt, interesting dishes to try out as well. Loongbar's actual chef (charged with executing the menu, as well as enriching it creatively) is Jeff Inihara, formerly of Elka and most recently chef at Vertigo, the tony "fusion food" restaurant in the Transamerica Pyramid. So although the bill is high, Loongbar has fine local credentials. While it may initially rely on free-spending vacationers like your Auntie Em, its long-term survival depends on your coming back without her.

At both my dinners there, most of the customers did, indeed, look like locals. Friday evenings, the street-level bar fills with twentysomethings TGIF-ing, while downstairs in the restaurant their counterparts (in couples and groups) mingle with older Orindans and San Mateans weekending in town. Even the most jaded customers have to gawk at the grand decor -- the sculpted dragon-scale motif behind the banquettes ("loong" is Cantonese for "dragon"), the pale-green near-circular entryway (like a giant jade pi, a Chinese disk signifying heaven) that frames the regal staircase, the waiter-station minitemple, the Chinoiserie and Japanoiserie and dragonoiserie on every wall.

Decor aside, the cooking received a less than heavenly reception when, way too early, critics rushed in where this angel would not tread. The dailies' custom of reviewing restaurants about a month after opening catches many kitchens still in flailing, inchoate infancy, barely able to smile or frown, much less say, "Dadda." Given Miller's abrupt shift in regional inspiration and the general difficulties of starting a large deluxe restaurant, Loongbar needed (in fact, still needs) some extra ripening time, like a fine tea. At my first meal -- the week that the most powerful local food critic ate his final pre-print Loongbar meal -- the menu was still changing on a near-daily basis. Five weeks later, we brought along Joey-the-CCA-grad, who's worked under several Pan-Asian chefs, including Hawaii's genius of the genre, Roy Yamaguchi. The food had considerably calmed down from some of the frantic combinations we'd initially sampled. Prices were also a little lower -- but unfortunately, the house computer hadn't been clued in, and overcharged us a couple of bucks each on several dishes.

The first page of the menu is divided into "Market" (meaning, appetizers) and "Garden" (vegetables, noodles, and rice). The latter bears looking at, since many main courses arrive without starch or veggies, and the kitchen is very good at veggies. The dozen entrees are evenly divided into "Sea" (seafood), "Sky" (fowl), and "Earth" (meats).

Both meals left us feeling that most appetizers read better than they taste. We began with grilled unagi with caramelized mango ($9). Although touched with a slightly sweet sauce, the pallid, mild-flavored eel fillet could have benefited by crisping the surface to add tactile interest; the mango was glorious, and we enjoyed the garnish of minuscule sliced pickled "bonsai cucumbers." We re-tried the dish on our second visit and found it unchanged. Vietnamese black pepper ribs with green papaya salad ($9) had very tender meat with a nicely complex barbecue sauce, well-paired with the tart, spicy, finely shredded fruit.

On our return visit, in the Three Kingdom rolls ($12), China was represented by a minicigar of deep-fried wonton skin wrapped around wan shredded crab, Vietnam was evoked in little salmon-lemongrass rolls, and Japan won the day with splendid temaki hand-rolls filled with delicious sweet hamachi (yellowfin tuna). But Kansai-style tartare "tataki" of beef and tuna ($9) was grim. "These tuna cubes have a gelatinous texture," I observed. "And they taste like tuna jello," TJ added. The beef was equally bland, despite a modest mince of cilantro -- but alongside came a fierce, fascinating salad of crisp sprouts of daikon, enoki, snow peas, and mitsuba (Japanese parsley), in a marinade tasting like wasabi. "The tartare has no taste, but they went to all that trouble to marinate the salad!" Joey exclaimed.