House of Blues' stated mission is to celebrate African-American cultural contributions to America's music, art, and cooking. Founded with financial backing from Dan Aykroyd, James Belushi, Aerosmith, and other celebs, HOB (as they abbreviate it) opened in a converted historic mansion in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on Thanksgiving 1992, with a meal for the homeless. (It continues that tradition today.) Since then, it's expanded nationwide into a chain of restaurant-nightclubs and larger performance venues.

The dining rooms are separate from the nightclubs, so you don't have to go to a performance to eat there. And in this season of strained wallets, you don't have to spend much to have a good meal and a great time.

At the San Diego HOB, decor is down-home and colorful. Every free inch of wall space is festooned with the fabulous folk art of the African diaspora -- New Orleans, Haiti, the rural South, etc. To my tastes, it's the best art museum in town. You can eat on the outdoor patio on Fifth Avenue, or inside in a simple dining room with wooden tables and chairs (with a little padding). No carpet, no tablecloths -- just that vibrant art to feast your eyes on (plus several large TV screens if that's your preference) and a blues soundtrack to go with it.

The menu, common to all of the chain's locations, is designed to appeal to every taste and budget -- Southern-inspired fare with an emphasis on Cajun/Creole dishes, mildly creative pub grub, and vaguely Mediterranean comfort food. Michael Catalano (formerly of Molly's) is executive chef of the San Diego kitchen, but chefs from all over collaborate on the recipes, with the strongest input from the Los Angeles outpost. As an aficionado of Louisiana cooking, I approached the restaurant with skepticism. Could a committee of corporate chefs devise an authentic version of such a distinctive cuisine? To answer that question, I started cautiously with the Gospel Brunch buffet (see below) and, when that passed muster, returned for dinner with the Lynnester, Samurai Jim, and my partner.

We began with the Cajun smoked turkey and shrimp filé gumbo (ordered from a menu section called "From the Stock Pot"). It was surprisingly acceptable, based on a well-made roux, with plenty of meats and veggies and just the right amount of rice afloat in a tasty broth. (It's a sin when restaurants dump too much rice into gumbo.) It was a little short on spice, so we asked for hot sauce. The waitress brought us a bottle of HOB's own Bayou Heat, which resembles Louisiana Red. Now, all along the southern Mississippi, good cooks have their own special gumbo recipes -- no two identical. In some circles, it's considered rude to ask people what they put in their gumbo, unless you're a close friend. HOB's rendition, on the other hand, is in no way personal or eccentric. It's still very nice -- Gumbo 101, with an easy passing grade.

Voodoo Shrimp is inspired by the New Orleans' misnamed "barbecue shrimp" (which is simmered, not barbecued). It offered tender shrimp in a smooth bittersweet sauce, the bitterness coming from a reduction of Dixie beer and piney sprigs of rosemary. The sweetness came from hunks of rosemary cornbread soaked in the sauce. Jim liked it so much, he threatened to eat it all.

A duo of grilled sausages included semi-spicy, full-flavored Louisiana andouille, and boudin, a milder Cajun sausage. The andouille was what it should be. The full-flavored boudin was neither the loose, plump, creamy white boudin from south of Lafayette, nor the funky, liverish brown boudin of the Cajun Prairie. In fact, I suspect it's not boudin at all, but another middling-spicy Cajun sausage called chaurice. Whatever its name, it's delicious. The sausages come plated over mild Creole mustard-cream sauce, surrounding a hill of stiff, lumpy, skin-on mashed potatoes, topped with diced roasted red peppers, chopped tomatoes, and canned black olives -- a flavorful, minimalist version of a pasta sauce.

We wanted to try one non-Southern appetizer, just to get a more complete picture of the cooking. We chose the wrong one: "Mediterranean" fried calamari. It was overcooked, oversalted, and undersauced (and the sauce wasn't very good either); anything else has to be better.

If you don't want a serious entrée, you can choose a main-course salad, sandwich, burger, or individual pizza. We did want serious entrées, and for those, we returned to the banks of the Mississippi and the Atchafalaya. The jambalaya was a tight mixture, with flavors well mingled (not the lazy cook's simplified version with Creole red sauce over boiled rice). It offered shrimp, chicken (including drumettes, which were better than the dryish breast pieces), andouille, tasso (spicy Cajun smoked ham made from pork loin), and whole roasted scallions. We stirred in a splash of Bayou Heat to help it along.

The rack of slow-smoked Tennessee-style baby-back ribs proved so tender and mild, you know it had to spend more time simmering than smoking, even though there's a smoker on the premises. The Jim Beam BBQ sauce is simple and molasses-sweet. The combo doesn't strike me as typical of Tennessee barbecue -- unless maybe they mean backyard barbecue from the white suburbs of Nashville. Certainly, it doesn't taste like spicy-tangy-sweet downtown Memphis Q, nor fiery-smoky rural African-American Q, like the long-gone Red Devil of Tullahoma, Tennessee. (Where the devil did he go?) But it's an amiable dish, especially with buttery mashed sweet potatoes alongside.

The huge slab of "Cajun" meatloaf is light textured and initially enticing, but its simple flavor soon wears out its welcome. It comes with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and, that night, undercooked baby carrots (those bagged pared-down carrots from Florida, not real babies). The bronzed catfish fillet also makes a stab at Louisiana cuisine, with lightly battered fried-fish pieces, carefully cooked but somehow lacking. "They've got all the right Cajun spices," said Jim, "but no Cajun flavor." The fish's companion was a mound of fascinating fiery chipotle risotto, sticky reddish rice similar to the jambalaya but spicier and also richer. "It almost tastes like there's sour cream in there," said my partner. It wasn't a bad guess -- there is dairy in the mixture, butter and Parmesan cheese.

Entrées come with vegetables, but you can amend any dish from a group of tasty, inexpensive sides. We invested in a side of sweet potato fries with lively house-made ketchup. It was a winner on both counts.

The wine list seemed so dreary -- mainly top-shelf supermarket bottlings -- that I passed on it entirely and thumbed through the bound stack of colorful cards depicting house-specialty cocktails. The best drink we sampled was the bright, tangy pamerita, a cerise-colored margarita with pomegranate juice.

For dessert, we shared a white chocolate banana bread pudding with whipped cream and caramel. Like most New Orleans--style bread puddings, it was on the dry side, and it had little white chocolate character. The portion was sufficient for four to share and not quite finish.

Overall, we felt that the Southern cooking here is enjoyable but not extraordinary. Extraordinary food requires personality and the courage to take chances, which a chain can't risk if it's going to please everybody. But the price is right, and the scene is a lot of fun, whether you're dating, hanging out with friends, or getting together with family. You can kick back, eat agreeable food, listen to the blues, and let the bon temps roulez -- good times permeate the building.

HOB GOSPEL BRUNCH BUFFET

HOURS: Sundays, 10:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m.

PRICES: Tickets, $35 adults (13 and over) in person; children 6--12, $18.50; free for 5 and under, but reserve seats for each tot. All phone orders have a $2 per ticket surcharge.

CUISINE AND BEVERAGES: Vast buffet of American breakfast foods, Southern dishes, salads, with omelet and carving stations and separate dessert station. Plenty of everything. Nonalcoholic beverages included in price, alcohol extra.

PICK HITS: Smoked roast beef; omelets; peel-and-eat shrimp; cheese grits; biscuits and gravy; jambalaya; smoked barbecued chicken; breakfast potatoes with peppers; wild mushroom pasta.

NEED TO KNOW: For best choice of dates and hours, buy tickets well ahead and be flexible. Call this minute for dates before New Year's -- most brunches sell out during the holiday season. Handicapped access: use Fifth Avenue entrance to avoid stairs; take elevator down to brunch. (Mobility-impaired patrons may want to wait for crowds to clear at opening time to ensure elevator access, and again before tackling buffet; the food won't run out.) Many lacto-vegetarian items, very few for vegans.

The room where the Gospel Brunch takes place is in HOB's subterranean depths. As you start down the stairs with the rest of the crowd, in small groups each led by a server, the colorful art on the walls makes you feel as if you're entering the old Tunnel of Fun at Coney Island -- but then, as you march down, down, down, thoughts of Alice and rabbit holes come to mind. Finally, you reach bottom, a vast, semi-dark room with a bar along one side and a curtained stage opposite. While loud recorded gospel music plays, the server shows you to your assigned seats at one of several long communal tables. The unpadded metal folding chairs are horrendously uncomfortable. We lucked out with our table-neighbors -- Charlene and three girlfriends were celebrating her 50th birthday with mimosas and quiet, contagious joy. They were the very people whose company you'd want at a gospel concert.

Once you're settled, you rise again to head for the buffet in a better-lighted adjoining room. Clearly, many of the patrons were veterans of the Gospel Brunch -- they were less pushy and tense than the average buffet-hound, because they knew that at HOB, none of the selections -- not even the most desirable dishes -- would run out.

The food quality? Well, it is a buffet. The pros: a huge and interesting spread, with plenty of flavorful dishes along with the inevitable blah selections. The cons: it's still a buffet. HOB doesn't use Sterno or steam trays to keep the food hot. Warm dishes soon cool to room temperature, which may not be so hot when it comes to items like biscuit gravy and baked macaroni -- but the food doesn't congeal over continued heat, nor does it suffer risky, bacteria-breeding sub-simmer temp-

eratures. (Two hours at room temperature is actually safer -- after that, the party's over.) Between the two shows (at 10 a.m. and 1 p.m.), the staff rings out the old dishes and brings in fresh batches.

Although HOB's website boasts of the buffet's "Southern specialties," most offerings are regionless American breakfast and picnic dishes. First go-round, I zeroed in on the Southern food. I liked the biscuits and the light sausage cream gravy (even if it had cooled), with a choice between well-browned or pale biscuits (they're in separate bins next to each other). I loved the very cheesy Cheddar grits, pure comfort food. (Despite their ugly name, grits are much the same as the soft polenta you eat at Italian restaurants -- moist cornmeal pudding.) The peel-and-eat shrimp were tender, cooked in a well-seasoned boil -- HOB's own house blend, as it didn't taste at all like Zatarain's, Chachere's, or Old Bay. When brunch-veteran Charlene got back to our table, her plate was piled high with them, for good reason.

The jambalaya was different from the dinner version, proving that it's cooked by humans, not robots. It was spicier and moister, more soulful than the version upstairs. Another hit was the smoky barbecued chicken, with tender flesh and crisp skin glazed with sweet barbecue sauce.

Also on hand are numerous salads, pastas, and potatoes. We liked the country-style breakfast potatoes with peppers and onions (better than the vinegary "Creole" potato salad), the penne with wild mushroom cream sauce, and (before it got too cold and sticky) the baked mac'n'cheese. On the downside, the fresh fruits, bacon, and link sausages were nothing to get excited about, and the crawfish cheesecake was leaden. The rosemary cornbread with maple butter is served stone cold, which takes some of the glamour off it, and in a salad of cheese tortellini with lobster, the pasta was gummy. We didn't bother with the several green salads.

The best way to approach the omelet and carving stations is to wait a bit and make a second buffet excursion after the initial crowds thin. The omelets are made to order, with plenty of point-and-shoot ingredients to choose from, including crawfish. The carving station's smoked prime rib roast is no less than magnificent.

If you're still hungry, there's a separate dessert station at the foot of the stairs. (Our appetites never made it that far.) Servers bring beverages to the tables. Excellent fresh orange juice flows freely, while coffee, soft drinks, and hard drinks arrive by request. You have to pay for alcohol; otherwise, beverages are free.

Just as we were starting to feel full, drowsy, and restless in those hard chairs, we heard a burst of live music. The curtains swung open, and a band onstage launched into its first number. The gospel concert starts about an hour after the buffet opens, runs for an hour, and wakes you right up. The performers encourage the crowd to clap and sing lines of call-and-response. After a few numbers, audience members who want to sing in public are invited to come to the front of the stage and solo a line or two -- it's amazing what vocal talent there is in the room. (This is not karaoke!) During the final number, the stage fills with audience members dancing with the band. And the very best dancer onstage that morning? "Our" Charlene!