RESTAURANT REVIEW : Chaya Diner, Formerly Flags, Takes On New Patrons and a New, Hip Attitude

Until recently, Chaya Diner was called Flags. Flags matchbooks, in fact, still sit in each ashtray. Why the name change? Well, despite a certain amount of critical approbation, Flags never really, uh, flew. Meanwhile, the other restaurants from the Chaya enterprises (Chaya Brasserie, Chaya Venice) had taken off and flourished. The Chaya moniker was solid gold. And yet, there was Flags, the wayward child that wouldn’t even take advantage of its own good family name.

Six months ago Flags changed its name to Chaya Diner, and business promptly improved.

With the new name and the new customers came a new attitude--an ultra-hip attitude.

“There are times, and this is one of them,” my friend Edward said, “when I feel so . . . uncool . . . so out of the thick of things . . . so much like a small-town lawyer and family man.” (Of course, Edward is a small-town lawyer--from South Pasadena--and a family man, though one with an adventurous palate.)

The restaurant, on the ground floor of an office building on the Sunset Strip, is a wide-open, noisy, highly designed California cuisinerie. From the dining room, customers have a view of a white-walled, open kitchen full of toiling chefs. And the clientele--most of whom are 23 to 49 years old-- seemed, on the nights I ate there, to be either successful rock ‘n’ roll musicians or psychotherapists.

From our table on the patio we had a good view of the customers. Edward glanced uneasily around and leaned across the table. “Do you realize that I am the only man wearing corduroy pants in this entire restaurant?”

I brought Edward to Chaya Diner because I thought he might enjoy chef Katsunoir Shimbo’s culinary range. Edward has a cultivated appreciation for a variety of ethnic cuisines, and Shimbo has found inspiration from Java and Japan to France and mid-town Manhattan.

“Let’s order a whole bunch of food,” I told Edward, “anything you want.” The food, I was sure, would win him over.

But the hot shrimp salad with a green pepper sauce was disappointing. The shrimp was overcooked and the sauce was salty--and I’m not usually one to complain about saltiness.

The deep-fried Camembert cheese was just dumb: breaded, fried, hot cheese, and not very tasty at that. This was especially surprising because most people don’t think of Camembert as a subtle cheese. I had ordered the seared fresh tuna with avocado and sesame dressing--a dreamy, sushi-like appetizer. Out of pity, I gave it to Edward, who was growing glummer by the minute. Hope flickered in his eyes. “This is utterly wonderful,” he said.

But the tuna was the highlight of the dinner. In ordering, I fell for the grilled meatloaf. After all, Chaya is a diner. What could be more appropriate than some form of ground beef? If I’d thought a little longer about it-- grilled meatloaf-- I might have had a clearer sense of what I would get: not a loaf-shaped slice of baked meat, but the equivalent of hamburger steak. This particular hamburger steak differed from most others in that it was smothered with a good--if salty--reduction sauce and a generous amount of wild mushrooms. I also liked the crusty, herbed--but salty--roasted potatoes.

Edward’s seafood brochette, a skewer of fish, scallops and shrimp, was overcooked, boring and, again, salty. But it did come with a bright array of perfectly steamed vegetables. “Now, one more time,” Edward asked, “why is it that you thought I’d like this place?”

Later, I tried Chaya Diner for lunch several times and again for dinner. Over the course of these visits, I discovered that two of my observations during that first dinner held true: The food (especially the sauces) tended to be salty, and the fish (except for the raw or seared fish) tended to be overcooked.

Nevertheless, I found myself looking forward to meals there. I frankly like the look of the place; the service is good, and the customers wear great clothes. The menu changes every three weeks, and there are a few nightly specials.

I had one great evening there with two girlfriends. Almost everything we ate was good (except for a slab of swordfish that had been cooked into woodenness). I liked a smooth, cool corn soup and the sesame dressing on a watercress salad. I especially liked the haystack of french fries that came with my grilled chicken, and the classic Chaya banana cream pie with its thin line of dark chocolate.

We ate and talked for more than three hours, which, even if we did look like hicks from the suburbs, proves that you don’t have to be a successful rock ‘n’ roller or psychotherapist to have a perfectly comfortable evening at the Chaya Diner.

Chaya Diner

8800 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood. (213) 657-2083.

Open for lunch daily from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m.; for dinner Monday through Saturday from 5:30 to 11 p.m. American Express, MasterCard, Visa accepted. Full bar. Parking in building. Dinner for two, food only. $35 to $55.

Recommended dishes: Seared fresh tuna, $7; watercress and tomato salad with sesame dressing, $4.50; grilled chicken, $13.50.