This is an unattractive name, although it is at number 25 Lusk Street, so there should be no problem remembering where the place is - on a little street not far from the ball park, but with valet parking that means you're never encumbered by its proximity.
Once inside the restaurant, you're wafted into a loft-like space oozing style and charm.
We were wafted and oozed last night, and found the team has softened its sauce-heavy style. The sauces are still there, on most dishes, but they're not as in-your-face as I remember from the last time we visited.
After "eating" my cocktail at the bar - a Smoking Jacket for the hard core martini drinker, comprising bloom gin, smoked bacon salt, vermouth, olive juice, and smoked olives - we went upstairs to the cool dining room and started with the Gnocchi (which was crisply fresh, but not necessarily like your Italian grandmother would make), the Octopus Salad (which surprised our friend by consisting of a whole tentacle), and the Pork Belly (always reliable, always good). Then the ladies had Arctic Char (to my mind, a lump of unappealing fish, but which my wife scoffed appreciatively) and the Ahi Tuna (more appealing lumps of rare fish, but equally appreciated by our friend), while I thoroughly enjoyed the Pork Loin.
Various desserts were forced on us, so without an ounce of restraint we found space for Strawberry Lasagne and a trio of small desserts that I can't remember the details of. Suffice it to say they were richly sweet, and no doubt very bad for us.
As usual, we ate the whole lot with each of us muttering about diets.
Another night out in the city. Beware.
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