Costa Mesa may not seem like the sexiest neighborhood in LA's vicinity, but this restaurant/lounge is 10,000 square feet of frisky foreplay.

About the only lovemaking primer not present in Sutra is Barry White crooning in the corner. The largest of the three modern, low-lit bars displays libations to be ogled before slightly sinister shards of jagged glass. ("Don't worry, Cindi. Just stay close to me.") Candles and chandeliers add a glint to the most unexpressive eyes. ("I don't know what it is, Pedro, but I'm seeing a whole new side of you tonight.") The plush furniture and opium bed promise decadent delights. ("Rodrigo, more grapes!") The thick curtains, cut from designer Italian fabrics, make the cruel outside world a distant memory. ("Oh, Francesca, you're the only woman for me! I swear on nana's alfredo!") Private and VIP rooms go the cruel-outside-world-hiding curtains one better. ("Jacques-Louis, I wish we were the only two people on Earth!") And the lush patio offers some choice post-meal relaxation. ("Darling Edna, I said hookah, not hooker! Come back!") Chef Stephane Beaucamp's menu—filled with small-plate options utilizing supposed aphrodisiacs like crab, oysters, mango, curry, ginger, caviar, vanilla and, for dessert, chocolate—virtually seals the deal. Let's just say if The 40-Year-Old Virgin had come here at 21, there wouldn't have been a problem. —Lonny Pugh