This Beverly Hills bijou runs the risk of appearing seriously mannered. The captains wear cream-colored smoking jackets; the waiters are dressed like Parisian garçons; a Keith Haring painting hangs on a back wall. Though Shanghai-born Michael Chow specializes in a Sino-European version of the light fare café society marches to, his restaurant (one of five) has flashes of brilliance. Sesame seeds add dimension to the richness of shrimp toast; squid ink gives broad strands of rice noodles the sheen of a pricey patent leather shoe. Just when matters are about to get arch, the kitchen sends out tender, thinly sliced veal tongue redolent of tea and cinnamon stick, as much a spice box as a perfect dish.