Eye candy abounds beyond the glass panes of this 38th-floor restaurant that mercifully no longer revolves. In a starter, sautéed portobello and shiitake mushrooms are draped over a miniature polenta cake, rich in parmigiano and luxuriating in a well-structured sauce of mushroom broth, sage and rosemary that begs to be sopped up with house focaccia. More mushrooms—this time wild—intermingle with basil and rosemary in a light but intense sauce painting thick, al dente strands of house-made pappardelle. Two juicy poached scallops adorn fettucelle (a narrower version of kissing cousin fettuccine) in a saffron sauce that’s too timid to remember. One bite of Cornish hen alla diavola explains all the fuss over bricks and pressing. The bird is out of this world: smoky, rich and juicy. Save room for the climax: tiramisù is lovingly executed, each mouthful transcendent and creamy, while Bartlett pears poached in chianti and dipped in semi-sweet chocolate thrill with every bite. Mains $15–$43.