This West Loop Italian restaurant mirrors its increasingly condo-ridden neighborhood--shiny, handsome, and seemingly soulless. As Tom Jones wailed over the sound system, white-shirted waiters and bussers hovered; friendly but bumptious, over the course of the meal they gave us spotted water glasses with a flourish, salad forks with an entree, and piled on our courses until the spacious booth table was completely overtaken by large white plates and bowls. Large rather than, say, delicious certainly seems to be the byword in the kitchen. Our choices from the menu of standard-issue offerings--a Caesar salad (anchovies not available), bland grilled octopus overwhelmed by balsamic, spaghetti carbonara rich with cream rather than creamy with eggs--were, well, standard issue. Risotto alla Siciliana with sausage and peppers was better, though here again to eat it in one sitting would likely spell death, and the inevitable leftovers tasted like nothing so much as cold pizza. The meal wrapped up with more Tom Jones, and unless you're a fan, I suggest the only reason to come here is the handsome side patio--god forbid he's piped out there too.
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