Cicciolino: An unassuming and, yes, eclectic menu- from start to finish.

Cicciolino An unassuming and, yes, eclectic menu–from start to finish.

As soon as I enter, I am treated like an old friend–a bar stool is proffered, and the host insists on taking my coat. He’s nice to say, "I like your scarf." Much hustle can be spied in the peek-a-boo kitchen. The busy bartender is lifting heavy racks of glasses but still inquires with a big smile: "What’s happening tonight?" He’s a 180 from the sullen bartendress we would encounter later in the evening, downstairs at Three of Cups. The one upstairs is stunning and sweet, but the rock mix is better and you’re more likely to run into your friends below.

My date is late, and the Cicciolino bartender wants to know: "Where is your friend?"

"I think he has March madness."

"What’s that?"

How come I can never date guys like this? I console myself with a juice glass of sauvignon blanc ($6). It’s lemony and refreshing.

Patrons here are boisterous groups in their late 20s and upwards; the youngsters are out in the cold lining up at Lil’ Frankie’s Pizza. Cicciolino’s lineup of tilted mirrors above allows you to observe all. Post-dinner hour, there seems to be more drinking than dining in progress. My date enters–"I like your scarf." Men notice these things after all. The Latin dance music on the speakers is loud. My date dislikes it; I find it neither here nor there. We both like the decor; it’s lots of fun. A pail of good bread arrives with some basil-infused virgin olive oil for dipping–it’s an herbal pick-me-up. The waiter lists the specials; they sound really good, especially the seafood risotto and the spaghetti carbonara.

"I’ll have all of that."

"I can arrange it."

Nightly specials include one pasta and one fish.

My date wants to know: "What are you getting?"

"I’m thinking about the hangar steak."

I get back a look that says, when you’re at an Italian restaurant you should have something Italian, so I order the penne arrabiata ($8). My starter is a plate of two big portobellos spread with garlicky pesto and browned breadcrumbs. The ’shrooms are tender, lush and meaty. Fresh spinach leaves surround. Very filling, but my fork will not allow itself to be set down. Across the table: a plate of baked mussels with a sharp lemony tang and a bit of toasty breadcrumb crunch. The mollusk meat is plump and moist. We feel we’ve hit the appetizer jackpot.

Nearby, a couple enthusiastically squeezes their lemon wedges over a good-looking bowl of fried calamari. Above, plastic kiddie-colored wastebasket lamps throw not so much light, which makes for coziness from flickering votives, but I would like to see the food. Obviously someone has gone to some trouble on the presentation, and their work should be admired. Apps range from $5 to $12.50. There’s bruschetta, an assortment of shareable antipasti, an eggplant dish, a cheese plate and minestrone (a special). There are, of course, salads. The entree menu, which the owner categorizes as "eclectic," runs between $8 and $9.

My big bowl of al dente penne has bits of smoky bacon in a spicy, addictive tomato sauce. Our waiter suggests some red to accompany. I select the sangiovese ($6), but the peppery pasta turns the wine to water; maybe beer would go better. Peroni is served here. My date has ordered a special–the grilled salmon ($12.50). It looks attractive, a very generous fillet, cooked medium rare and glossily pink in parts, but I find the fish dry, and if my eyes were closed, I would not be able to tell it was salmon. It comes with lots of bland, textureless mashed potatoes.

My date thinks I’m a weirdo; he says both the salmon and the spuds are delicious and eats every bit of it. An accompaniment of grilled fennel is perfectly cooked–subtle and soft, a standout treatment of an often too-bitter vegetable. Some fresh spinach rounds out the plate.

As for the short dessert menu, the waiter says he likes the panna cotta with blueberries. I’ve had good luck trusting waiters, and tonight is no exception. The custard is rich and thick and velvet-vanilla yogurty. Its purply blueberry sauce matches well with a glass of sweet but complex port. We’re brought dessert glasses of bright, fizzy Moscato d’Asti that the waiter wants us to try because "you’re a pleasure to wait on."

(No guarantee of freebies, nor even good service, but I find chances are bettered if you: 1. Say so when you like a dish. 2. Murmur "Thank you" when served. 3. Take a moment to flash a smile at your waiter.)

Like reservations for small parties, we find out that credit cards aren’t accepted. Since we don’t want to wash dishes, we’re fortunate to find an ATM at the end of the block. />  

Parish & Co.

Its simple storefront is easy to miss. But within: reddish upholstery, woven walls, tables topped with brown butcher paper, huge wheel-shaded muted lamps, exposed brick, wood floors, windowed nooks and a long, dark bar form a sleek yet warm front room that you’re glad you didn’t pass up. Above the crowded bar (operated by a babyfaced bartender with a disconcertingly deep voice): toy airplanes and globes to spark wanderlust. This understated yet modern decor seems out of place in this diner-centric neighborhood. We sit at an unstable table and peruse a cocktail list that sports ghost drinks like a Pink Lady.

Bottled water is offered but not pushed, and our glasses of tap are kept full. A flute of Nino Franco Prosecco N.V. ($8) offers the tiniest sprightly bubbles, but not much flavor. More pleasing–a glass of Australian Yalumba merlot ($6) that proves versatile; it’s medium dry and thickly aroma-ed. Our friendly, waifish waitress provides us with a tin of cushy salted focaccia and fresh Italian bread with a flat saucer of stellar herbed and anchovied oil. A handsome young man declares, "I have come to dewobble your table." He disappears below, accomplishes his mission, stands and salutes us.

Cheese crostini ($4) are garlicky oiled toasts with a welcome scorch to the crusts, piled indulgently with smooth sweet ricotta and topped with matchsticks of medium-firm yellow cacio cavallo for contrast. Watercress salad ($9) comes with cabbage, fresh biting goat cheese and a concentrated fig puree, which serves as a perfect accompaniment to the slightly bitter greens and tangy cheese–but there’s not nearly enough of it on the plate.

This conversation comes from the next table: "I’m all about, ‘You’re not on the list.’"

"Anal?"

"No, status."

The list-checker has one drink–club soda I think–no dinner and talks loudly nonstop. This is how to stay thin. My companion remarks, "I can’t tell you how many times I get those in back of me on an airplane. This could go on six hours to L.A. They’re usually in p.r. or marketing."

We try to turn our attention to our entrees. Pappardelle ($9) are endless wide ribbons in a thin, cloying red sauce that’s a ho-hum medium for plentiful braised pork, tender and sweet and rich. An overbearing menthol is blasted from each bite into the chunks of wilted sage, lying about here and there in the ragout. A better option: the soft, comforting gnocchi is homemade heaven, especially with a heavy carpeting of parmesan. Here, the leaves of sage work well; they’ve been crisped and lend just enough of themselves without overwhelming the dish. Get the small portion ($9) of the delectable dumplings, though; the addition of fried shallots, while certainly tasty, makes the dish too salty to endure the large.

Most offerings are available in small or large servings, including the grilled calamari. There’s not a bit of rubber to these tender rings that benefit from smoky flavor and attractive grill markings. They are absolutely succulent and fresh and the best seafood I’ve had in a long while. The small plate ($7) more than makes up for our freezing cold walk westward. The sauce is unpleasantly acidic, but doesn’t make much of an impact as it’s too thin to adhere well to the slick slices of squid.

Our shared dessert of warm chocolate cake ($6) is a small round; smooth and souffle-like with a tiny crumb, it turns fudgy in the mouth. An ovoid of satiny whipped cream comes alongside, a few too-tart raspberries and too little of some lively dark pink raspberry syrup. Coffee ($2.50) is a dusky roast. When we’re ready to leave, both rear dining room and front lounge are fairly jammed. Parish & Co., more hit than miss, seems already a necessity in this neighborhood.

Parish & Co., 202 9th Ave. (betw. 22nd & 23rd Sts.), 212-414-4988. />