As a whole, Southern California has a notorious reputation for embracing the destruction of our past.  But while we should occasionally acknowledge and accept the scorn that oftentimes accompanies such demolition – the fact that the original Brown Derby in Los Angeles is now the home of a mundane strip mall immediately comes to mind – a lot of this structural ripping and tearing is a necessary evil for progress to occur.  For example, the miles of citrus groves that were displaced in Orange County were a sad but crucial by-product of the area’s exponential growth.  However, such widespread refurbishment has a tendency to cause a goodly amount of local history to get completely buried.  And in the OC, no aspect of its lore has fallen off the radar farther than its status as a major military and aviation hub.  There are few people of the post-boomer generation that realize that the land currently occupied by Mile Square Park in Fountain Valley was an auxiliary military aircraft landing area, or that the OC Fairgrounds was the home of the Santa Ana Army Air Base during World War II.  Add to this the gradual evaporation of the El Toro Marine base and the increasing obscurity of local flight pioneers such as Eddie Martin (the man who our local airport should really be named after), and Orange County’s legend as a crucial armed forces and aviation epicenter is fading like the nose art on an oxidizing Hellcat.

In many ways, this type of disappearing act is being mirrored in Orange County’s restaurant world, as it is getting increasingly difficult to find a stand-alone venue that serves as a reminder of how dining was considered not just fun, but important:  Places where you selected your wardrobe to impress its interior; where traditional studies in haute cuisine such as beef tartare, wilted spinach salad and beef stroganoff are an expectation rather than a surprise.  And as the realms of modern and post-modern culinary exploration increasingly become de rigueur for the 35 and under set, there lies great potential in future generations forgetting the significance of these types of dining encounters.

Given this propensity to turn a blind eye to the past in both the historical and gastronomic contexts, it is refreshing that a venue like Neiuport 17 in Tustin exists.  Named after a French fighter plane that was flown by American volunteers in the months leading up to World War I, this landmark venue serves as a glorious shrine to the OC’s military and aviation past.   Each room is decorated with photos and artifacts that cover nearly a century of flight and essential wartime exploits; so thorough is their collection, they could practically include an admission fee to each bill of fare if they so desired.  The adjacent lounge area, dubbed the Barnstormer Bar, adds an even thicker dimension of historical perspective, as its dimmer lighting and cozy fireplace works with the building’s Bavarian exterior to create the feel of a Central European hunting lodge, giving the pieces that festoon the section a higher sense of reverence.  If you carry a passion for this type of history, Neiuport 17 is a destination that deserves your undivided and fervent attention.

The cuisine at Neiuport 17, while at times uneven, serves as a solid compliment to the brilliant décor, appropriately hearkening back to traditional dining roots with some modern touches sprinkled here and there.   My wife and I started the evening with a pair of tartars; the classic beef steak, and the modern ahi tuna.  The former was fantastic – salty, slightly mustardy, ideally tangy.  The latter was terrific for mostly the opposite reasons; nicely chilled and mild on the palate, with a soft peppery kick.  The shrimp escadrille that we also shared was blanketed in a Thousand Island-shaded remoulade that could have been a little more piquant.  The escargots that we finished the first round with were perfectly chewy and meaty, although the garlic sauce that slathered them could have been toned down by a couple of notches.

When it came to the salad course, I approached it with one simple rule:  If a place touts classic cuisine, it is essential that their Caesar salad is prepared properly.  At Neiuport 17, it is indeed done very well, with the perfect amount of dressing and no one component of the salad overpowering the other.  My wife’s wilted spinach salad was also good, as the flavorful greens blended nicely with the warm bacon dressing and shredded egg.

The main course was another bumpy adventure, but what worked did so with great aplomb.  The entrée’s lone rough patch was found in the shrimp scampi monaco, in which the star component was a bit overcooked.  The tournedos of beef that we enjoyed, however, were superb:  Tender, succulent, and perfectly pink, these modest cuts of meat were everything that a classic dish should be about.  The au gratin potatoes that we ordered to accompany our meal were quite scrumptious, as well.

We finished off our meal with a dessert that is worth the time, drive, and whatever effort you need to get here:  The fudge pie.  If it sounds like a simple concept, that’s because it is.  It literally is a fudge pie, the likes of which is baked every day in Neiuport 17’s ovens.  But they say that the best food is the simplest, and this definitely provides a rather eloquent argument.  Adorned by a heavenly flaky crust, the pie buttresses the line between being chocolaty and being rich without crossing over, resulting in a treat that even those that aren’t too keen on chocolate desserts can and will inhale.  My wife’s pretty plate of berries and vanilla ice cream laced with Chambord liqueur was a crisp and refreshing treat that I have to imagine would be transcendent during the summer when the weather warms.

Despite the peccadilloes that we encountered with the meal, I still came away with the feeling that what Neiuport 17 is doing absolutely matters, both inside and outside of the kitchen.  The footprint of past generations, both in a historical and an epicurean sense, is merely too valuable to sweep over, and this is a place where the past is uplifted and held in high esteem, and not woefully crushed, which is delightful to experience.  So much so, in fact, that after we finished our dinner, we met some friends of ours in the venue’s Barnstormer Bar, where we lounged around, relaxed with some transcendent ivory tickling, and quaffed drinks until midnight.  Dare I say it was a night that I could have totally envisioned myself replicating in the old Brown Derby.  You know, before the powers that be deemed it necessary to turn it into a strip mall.