Fiore’s Ristorante Toscana

Flavor: Fancy-pants Italian
Ambiance: Quiet. Very quiet.

I’m always happy when a restaurant avoids cliches. The world already has enough grilled mahi-mahi and creme brulee. But there are at least a few cliches—and this isn’t easy for a writer to admit—that clearly work so well in a restaurateur’s favor that not luxuriating in them comes across as a regretable mistake.

I’m not sure how Fiore’s Ristorante Toscana has managed not to benefit from its location, location, location. Situated on a bull’s-eye block between downtown and City/County Plaza, Fiore’s should do a robust business with tourists and locals. But when I told friends where I was headed for my next review, few recalled ever seeing the place, let alone eating there.

Surely there are diners who still count Fiore’s among their favorite spots—before recent construction snared College Street traffic, a daily lunch crowd of hungry civil employees thronged the cafe to guzzle down hoagies and French dips—but I couldn’t find them. On both of my weeknight visits, Fiore’s was empty enough to have just one staffer waiting on tables and tending bar.

Falling squarely under the radar is an attribute usually better suited for a soldier or a secretly homicidal neighbor than a restaurant. But Fiore’s seems content to go unnoticed, serving up Italian standards that are shy about making a splash.

I’ve seen enough teen flicks to wish Fiore would tear off its thick-lensed glasses and boogie. But after spending almost $200 for four people to dine on just north-of-decent food served at a plodding pace, I’ve lost interest in the “shrinking violet turns showgirl” storyline. When this restaurant whispers a muffled “Oh, don’t mind me,” it’s probably best to listen.

The Caesar salad on Fiore’s menu perfectly encapsulates the problem. The salad’s watery dressing is not too salty, too creamy or too lemony, as are so many restaurant Caesars prepared by amateurish chefs who single out one favorite ingredient for special treatment (although I’m unlikely to complain if it’s garlic that gets the nod). But it also isn’t too good. Hesitant to make any statement at all, the flavorless Caesar is immediately forgettable.

But, it is finishable, and nothing I sampled at Fiore’s was unpalatable. The workmanlike food churned out by the kitchen wouldn’t be half as objectionable if it was affordable and quick. If these dishes were served at a family place near the highway, they’d be downright rave-worthy.

Instead, Fiore’s cultivates an upscale image, hanging the walls of its narrow, high-ceilinged space with art and wedging an impressive fish tank between the front door and the dining room. The seating includes a set of booths that could better be described as boxes, with another row of tables and chairs perched atop them. At first, it feels intimate, but by the time dessert arrives, it feels like magician-assistant’s training camp.

The menu includes dozens of variations on chicken, veal and shellfish, but the most interesting entries are the family-style feasts, designed to be enjoyed by two or more people. These three prix fixe dinners—highlighting meat, fish and vegetables, respectively, although there is some boundary-crossing—include a platter of antipasti and three entrees.

The meat bonanza begins with an excellent rosy-red carpaccio and a less impressive roasted-pepper bruschetta, felled by a sub-par bread base. Fiore’s seems to struggle with grains, setting out a complimentary basket of bread that wasn’t fully thawed, then trying to pass off a gummy grits-like substance as risotto.

Our server was a great fan of the calamari, which, while passable, arrived with a bowlful of well-seasoned marinara sauce thick with diced tomatoes and whole cloves of garlic. It was good enough to consider using the skinny little squids as a garnish and eating the sauce with a spoon.

Entrees finally reached the table about an hour after we ordered, or 20 minutes after the violent sound of any last life being pounded out of our veal filled the restaurant. The veal was admirably thin, and not the least bit overcooked.

A hard-luck lamb included in the carnivore’s feast didn’t fare so well. It was overcooked, a fitting end to what tasted like a rough life. Its tough flesh and strong flavor suggested this lamb was as much a lamb as certain women are 39 years old. I’m just glad it was spared the pounding.

The zuppa di pesca was a fair, if bland, take on the basic seafood dish, although the lobster, scallops and mussels all tasted fresh from the freezer. The soup’s pasta was well-cooked, as was a deeply satisfying gnocchi. The dumplings were well-sauced and had the familiar sedative quality that makes gnocchi the most lulling of foods.

Fiore’s signature tiramisu wasn’t available when we dined there. The cheesecake we sampled instead was an odd dessert that tasted startlingly like a cheese Danish. Far better was the tart lemon sorbet, served in a chilled sundae glass that could have been swiped from a museum’s ice-cream shop exhibit.

I suppose the great lesson of Fiore’s is that “location, location, location” doesn’t always rule, even in towns overtaken by tourists who seem willing to spend their money on anything. Instead, “location, location, good food” seems to be the winning equation, and perhaps Fiore’s will soon recalculate.