Alta Comes Up Short

Of all the concepts to purloin from the Eighties, few could be as regrettable as sun-dried tomato sauce, but here it is atop ricotta-mushroom ravioli. We went instead with shrimp Reggiano, six cheese-coated crustaceans lined up alongside "handkerchief pasta with wild mushrooms" — which were rolls of thick, graceless noodles wrapped around regular old white button mushrooms.

Desserts reflect a prosaic, formulaic approach, from a "tropical" fruit plate of "strawberries with berries" and ricotta whipped cream, to "passion fruit key lime pie," two pyramids of passion fruit sorbet over a scattering of loose graham cracker crumbs — actually quite pleasing, but patrons expecting some sort of key lime pie are likely to be taken aback, if not downright disappointed. And of course there is molten chocolate cake, which I grow weary of mentioning week after week. Would a stab at vanilla molten cake be asking too much?

The amiable waiters and well-intentioned owners can go only so far in fostering a forgiving attitude. Prices, too, though reasonable, aren't quite low enough to warrant the weaknesses: Appetizers are $9 to $14, and entrées, excepting the filet mignon, run $17 to $28. But the good news about being so flagrant an underachiever is that it leaves plenty of room to grow. Let's hope Juan and Vani's narrative will continue with stories of rolled-up sleeves, ironed-out kinks, and further culinary and hospitality training (they should seriously consider bringing in an experienced, professional chef who can help them learn the trade). With due diligence, they might become accomplished culinarians and restaurateurs — thus fulfilling the promise of their premise.