On weekends, the romantic, candlelit room is filled to capacity with the pre-club set looking for a reasonably priced bite before moving on to posher digs for designer martinis. The fashion set—a man toting an oversized orange snakeskin purse, a woman in aviators and motorcycle cop jodhpurs—brings style to an otherwise plain room. A DJ booth hovers over the lower dining room, playing loud music as a warning to any diners who didn’t bring their dancing shoes. The open kitchen behind the bar is little more than three panini presses: grilled sandwiches are well represented in mains. The menu is surprisingly sophisticated in spots. For example, a pear and cambozola plate, served with olive and fig preserve to spread on toasted rye, is a generous assemblage of well-balanced flavours. Mildly spiced sweet pork sausage is sided with a square of cheesy, creamy, not-warm-enough potato flan, but the promised fennel apple slaw is MIA, as are the arugula and hummus. Frostitution Bakery desserts finish things off well. Service is confused and painfully slow, but friendly and apologetic. Although the kitchen can become overwhelmed, the food is honest and satisfying.