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Steve Martin caught this yearning for the right table in the right spot in his smart, affectionate movie L.A. Story. At one point, his harassed hero has a nightmare in which he is first interrogated about his finances by a restaurant proprietor, then told what entree he is eligible to order when he finally gets a table at a new mecca called L'Idiot (pronounced French-style, Leed-yo). The film also pinions Michael's, a Santa Monica success that has opened to SRO business in New York, especially at lunch, when the place is packed with TV-network, record-industry and publishing groups. Michael McCarty was one of the first popularizers of so-called California cuisine: light fare, fancily decorated with greens, greens, greens. On celluloid, as in life, guests can scarcely see one another through the jungle-like foliage.
Once the Californian has checked out his dining strategies, he is far better at relaxing than a Manhattanite. He wants to chum up to his waiter, who must reciprocate if he hopes to prosper. An invitation to come by for a swim is not unusual. A New York waiter is likely to be quieter, sterner and, some say, more professional.
Italian cooking appears to make the bicoastal journey well, as do various Asian cuisines. People watching is great in both towns, but Sandi Tang has a hot tip for the celeb seeker: "Come between 3 and 5 in the afternoon if you want to see rock stars. They probably just got up, and they aren't hassled."