RESTAURANT SIBERIA

It’s a special occasion, and you’ve made the reservation and washed the car. The valet parks your car, a hostess swings the front door open with a fake smile and a “good evening.” You feel special. The maitre d’ greets you-“Oh, signera, a beautiful table for a beautiful lady. For you tonight, the best table in the house”-and you proceed to walk past one table, then another, up a step, around a comer, past a potted palm, and next to a lobster tank, where the chair is pulled out for you. Over your partner’s shoulder you’re looking into a parking lot, to your right is the restroom door. Is that Renuzit or the flower arrangement you’re smelling? Welcome to restaurant Siberia.

It’s not just where you eat, it’s where you sit where you eat that’s the measure of a big night out. What comes across as “atmosphere” in a Mexican restaurant where the bill is $10 somehow comes off as punishment when the bill tops $ 100. What did you do to deserve this?

Nothing much.

We made a special occasion reservation at Tarantino’s, one of our favorite restaurants, and were shown to a Friday night special at the very back, down a hall, next to a cigarette machine and the restrooms. Undoubtedly, it was crammed in at the last minute to accommodate weekend crowds. Still, Siberia looks good from here. Tarantino’s is succeeding by breaking all the rules of restaurant success, but this table breaks some rules that should never be broken-unless you have a bladder problem and need a pack of Marlboros with your martini.

Of course, one woman’s Siberia is another’s Riviera.

And speaking of the Riviera, we can all admit that part of the appeal of swank dining is rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Just don’t take us too literally. We don’t want to be so close we feel obligated to share dessert. Unfortunately, the banquettes of deuces at the Riviera squeeze you in along a wall just 11 inches from the Rolex next to you.

A table for six is less vulnerable to bad geography than a two-top because six people can create their own virtual dining room-they’re making so much noise they don’t notice where they are. The smaller the table, the more its location matters. And location at The Mansion on Turtle Creek matters more than anything. That’s why the two-top on the Terrace is even worse than the neighboring six-top.

Nothing saves the six-top at Palomino. The only reason to go to this glitzy Ital-palace is to be seen by society, but you don’t get your payoff if you’re seated two miles from the front door, up a little step, in the corner between the waiter’s station and the kitchen. Basically, you’re in the kitchen-you can smell the steam table, hear the dishwasher, and, if you’re lucky (like we were) watch a gloveless kitchen staffer slice what appeared to be mozzarella (or was it tofu?).

You’ve got to keep up with your geography if it’s important to you because Siberia moves around in the restaurant world. For instance. in the front room at the completely location-conscious Palm, the recently renovated floor plan has flip-flopped the table status. The once lowly back table in the front room is now the A table and, really, there are no bad tables in the front. But when the hostess leads you through the bar, past those sexy six-top booths, past the bread slicer, to the “Cowboy Room,” it feels like a death sentence. It doesn’t matter that the most famous faces are on this wall-who’s going to see your face when you’re buried back here?

Sometimes the best table is the hard-to-find table. It may seem like a disappointment to enter the sumptuous French Room only to follow as the host turns left and leads you under the arches to dump you in an out-of-the-way cube. On the other hand, it’s the best table in the house if you are trying to hide from someone other than a waiter. Like your wife.