MAGNOLIAS 1193 mass. ave. 576-1971

Any self-respecting Southern restaurant would shudder at the thought of portabella mushrooms and goat cheese. Any self-respecting Southern restaurant would put mesclun greens on its menu only under the very threat of death. However, this is Cambridge, where Ralph Waldo Emerson proclaimed John Brown a saint for his raid on Harper's Ferry and where the Mason-Dixon feels about as far south as the equator. Around here, good Southern cooking is as hard to find as the old Stars and Bars. But who really cares, when the result of a fusion of Southern and yuppie cuisine can be as good as it is at Magnolias?

Magnolias boasts a rather unprepossessing, though cheerful decor. Bright, smiling clay moons and stars prevail over the blue walls, and the kitschy glass lights look like upturned jellyfish. Ceramic armadillos and alligators play musical instruments. Yet, while from the waist up the restaurant exudes kitsch, from the waist down Magnolias looks like a diner: white tile floors and vinyl seat covers. The Glass Menagerie effect is heightened by the patchwork clown dolls and Mardi Gras beads strewn copiously around the small, intimate dining room.

The most telling physical landmark of the restaurant, however, is the immense, brightly colored mural in the style of Diego Rivera which wraps around behind the bar and open kitchen. In it, merry people amuse themselves beneath strands of Spanish moss, dangling over the fancy wrought-iron balconies and balustrades of Southern gothic buildings. All drink and laugh profusely, and all are glaringly white. The image is a perfect metaphor for the cuisine. Magnolias strives to emulate New Orleans, but a piece of its heart will always be in New Canaan.

In true Southern style, we decided to order enough food for 12. None of it proved disappointing. The veggie plate is billed as an entree, but it proved the perfect appetizer to share, offering a sample of every vegetable on the menu. Arranged artfully on the giant platter were mashed spiced yams, mashed new potatoes, light and crispy fried green tomatoes, pencilthin sweet potato fries, black-eyed peas topping cheesy grits with tomato relish, and the inevitable nods to yuppies everywhere: mesclun greens with vinaigrette and portabella mushrooms roasted with goat cheese and walnut stuffing. Gourmandized Southern has never been so tasty, sopped up with the coarse, hot, freshly-baked cornbread muffins. Other appetizers include an elegant, but not especially interesting, mesclun salad, and a side order of Hoppin Shavonne: smooth fluffy cheese grits and black-eyed peas cooked with fresh tomatoes and onions. Complementing the appetizers is a selection from the broad range of microbrews--Jefferson Davis, groan in your grave--called Turbo Dog. The evening was looking up.

Seared blackened tuna steak will probably never edge out jambalaya where it counts. But perhaps it should. Topped with lightly fried beer-battered shrimp, the succulent fish swam on top of a vaguely tangy mustard sauce. The plate was livened by spicy sauteed collard greens--or perhaps it was the more raffine kale--and mashed potatoes. The overstuffed pork chop was way too sophisticated to hearken back to grand-ma's recipe. It came stuffed with apple and andouille sausage which cohered around moistened breadcrumbs. Black plum ketchup provided a foil for the smoky, spicy meat. The same potato and collard/kale accompaniments leant themselves more favorably to the pork chop than to the tuna. Both entrees, though hearty and rich, were tasty and the generous portions allowed us to feed multiple roommates for days.

Dessert proved imperative, in spite of embarrassingly inflated waistbands and popped buttons. Amidst the traditional Key Lime Pie and Pecan Pie came the pernicious, though probably delicious, gesture towards chic--Praline Parfait and Flan. The Pecan Pie is served (naturally) piping hot, graced by silky, homemade vanilla ice cream so light it was almost ice milk. It was perfect. The Key Lime Pie was typically tart and sweet, graham crackery crust with sour flecks of lime rind.

The prices are more New York than New Orleans--$4 to 8 appetizers, $10 to 20 entrees--but the overhead must be high to support all those mushrooms with goat cheese and seared tuna. Best of all, their menu changes seasonally, and Magnolias frequently offers theme menus that stick more to their Southern roots. For the open-minded neophytes among us, let there be flan and microbrews amongst Magnolias fried green tomatoes.