Restaurants

Just Passing Through

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Bruschetta, which need merely show up on a table to prove a crowd pleaser, reawakens the taste buds to its earthy delights with an above-average kick of garlic. Razor-thin slices of carpaccio are so delicately baby-soft, they come apart like pieces of wet tissue; the beef is made robust by the strong, reckoning taste of the mustard-infused citrus vinaigrette it sits upon. That same mild-manly duality should be imparted to the appetizer of roasted mushrooms; alas, their pleasantly passive taste is given no competing flavor to play with. The two soups -- a chunky white bean and a cioppino (fish stew) need about two shakes of salt and pepper apiece, but the essences are all there: Each is hearty, clean tasting and well stocked. While the salads aren't quite large enough to order as a full meal, any of the four makes for a gangbuster second course: baby spinach with petite segments of red grapefruit, chèvre and chunks of smoked pancetta doing the work of usual croutons; fanlike leaves of butter lettuce accented with frisée, pear tomatoes, olives and a tart sherry vinaigrette; scrumptious hearts of romaine tossed with never-ending helpings of feta, kalamata olives, tomatoes, cucumbers and toasted pita chips; and a classic Caesar (hold the anchovies).

While a number of the entrées stick to what's trendy among today's high-end restaurant fare -- mashed potatoes aren't just mashed potatoes, they're "Yukon Gold Mashed Potatoes" -- the results back up whatever vogue choices have been made. Red meats are roasted perfectly, most notably a lusty rack of lamb, exquisitely accompanied by a generous side of warm ratatouille. Sadly, only three seafood items remain on the revamped menu, one a seafood fettuccine. A fantastic striped sea bass, fatty and flaky all at once, firmly makes the case that salmon's heyday should come to an end (if only sea bass weren't so damn pricey, both at restaurants and at the seafood counter). Maybe that is why what's most memorable about the perfectly good Atlantic salmon scaloppine is just how much salmon you get -- three fillets, each bigger than your hand.

The wines on the brief list are moderately priced, which is to say most are under $50. But there's nothing here for even the hotel guests to write home about, just ordinary wines with high markups. And the list violates the Sommelier's First Principle: No vintages are listed.

Before we get to desserts -- wait, let me just make that part simple: Order the chocolate mascarpone cheesecake, a dense, fudgelike mound wondrously paired with a scoop of pistachio ice cream -- let's go back to the beginning, where Capri's other misstep (besides the ill-fitted ambiance) starts to surface. After Mike and I placed our orders, our tuxedo-uniformed server presented us with what she told us was our "complimentary" bread basket. That struck us as a little off, and was only the first of a few faux pas committed in the service, which is wholly willing but relatively inexperienced. Silverware was sometimes taken between courses and left unreplaced until requested, and on my second visit I had to explain that Pellegrino is a brand of sparkling water.

A week after Mike and I went to Capri, I mentioned that I'd be referencing our scuba-divers tale in my review. "Your review of what place?" he asked. I repeated "Capri" twice, but he only caught on when I reminded him that it's the restaurant in the Renaissance Grand. Despite so many delicious dishes, Capri is a hotel eatery through and through -- unfortunately, its most distinguishing quality is how easily it leaves your mind.

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