Peep: An affordable three-course meal in the middle of Soho.

An affordable three-course meal in the middle of Soho.

The flashing, white, looping animated neon sign and all-glass doored frontage puts me back to a weekend in Montreal. I’d been wide-eyed at so much neon, propped-opened doors with air conditioning blasting onto the street in July, and the open-air multilevel arcades that didn’t seem to even have doors. As my dad explained it, electricity was cheap.

We walked around the endless underground and my dad bought me some outfits in the boutiques with cash–a suede skirt and vest–and some accessories like a teeny-tiny black leather purse with a skinny strap that was so long it had to be knotted. What made it an extra treat was that you couldn’t even find stuff that trendy in the stores of Saratoga County. Or even up to the Colony Center.

The only bad thing was that, due to a growth spurt, I fell off my ankles a couple of times. I wasn’t hurt at all, just teary because I was completely mortified. We went to dinner at the slickest, cushiest, brand-spanking newest Howard Johnson’s I’d ever seen. I ordered something I couldn’t pronounce–Boeuf Bourguignon. The menu said it had mushrooms, but I decided to be brave and try it anyway. It was delicious. After dinner we played games in the arcades.

Right away, I feel good about Peep.

It’s a long, thin place with an open kitchen at the end. The ceiling is mirrory metallic–funhouse-style–and the barstool seats are of widely woven Jolly Rancher-pink plastic. The super-long bar extends into the dining area; the inner half is set for dinner, providing needed extra dining space.

Peep is popular. There aren’t a whole lot of reasonably priced, full-service spots in central Soho. You can find burgers, pizza, pub food and, of course, coffeehouse fare, but it’s a trickier matter to find a three-course meal without going into debt or walking east.

The Special Drinks menu is fruit-centric. I pick a strawberry caipiroska ($9), and it becomes my new favorite drink. It’s smooth and sweet, with plenty of mashed lime, strawberries and Ketel One; having it on an empty stomach made it even better. There’s also a peach bellini ($11) and a kiwi margarita ($12). There are Asian beers and low-end cold sake in personal-size bottles, and six whiskeys, of which Macallan 1937 ($12) is the top shelf. At the bar, where a smiling friendly bartender mixes it up, you can munch on snacks of crispy shrimp ($6) with avocado, green onion emulsion and tomato chutney, served up in a martini glass, or barbecued calamari ($5) with soy glaze, field greens, tomato and spiced hoisin.

A second plate of shrimp-semolina fritters ($5) are deep-fried, filled twists of dumpling. They’re a fun sharable starter with moist centers, but not especially shrimpy and not as tasty as their name would imply. The staff is young and energetic and checks in often. For a "main plate," our enthusiastic server recommended the deconstructed "hung-lea" blackened strip loin ($12) as the best thing on the menu. He’s probably right. A generous mound of thick steak strips are butter tender and served over tamarind, ginger and horseradish sauce that combines to form a mild curry that has some fire at the end of each bite. Alongside, a brick of serviceable jasmine rice sprinkled with black sesame seeds. Also on the plate–braised sweet peas and zucchini, but it’s the steak and sauce that will get your attention.

An entree of duck and rice vermicelli ($12) with curry and greens has a tangle of the thinnest noodles that are lightly sauced and stretchy; they’re tossed with tiresome chunks of tofu and sweet onion for a welcome crunch. And more of those peas. The round of duck meat is on the chewy side, fatty with little bones, but the meat is sweet and the fat has been charred, rendering it flavorful. Still, I would not order this again.

Other plates include the requisite pad thai ($9) and peanut-crusted salmon ($14) with mushrooms, string beans and curried coconut-sweet basil sauce. You can also build your own saute plate by selecting from chicken, beef, tofu or shrimp and a preparation like ginger dish with pineapple and cashew, or lemongrass-chili with mung bean vermicelli and chili-tamarind paste ($10-$11). Supplement with jasmine, sticky or brown rice ($1-$2) and a side of veggies such as garlicked greens with pepper ($5).

For a finish, the "sinful" chocolate mousse ($6) is a fluffy milk chocolate version in cake form. Banana, chocolate and coconut strudel ($5) comes with a puddle of thick honey and a scoop of rich vanilla bean ice cream. Diagonally cut phyllo rolls hold the toasted coconut and chunks of semisweet chocolate. The bits of firm banana cut the sweetness and the ice cream moistens the pastry; it’s a swell dessert. The coffee ($2) is chalky but drinkable, and timely refills are pleasantly offered.

One thing I do not like about Peep is the tip calculations that are "provided for your convenience" on the tab. Suggestions of 15, 20 and 25 percent are offered up, but the figures include the tax in the total. After that delicious banana confection it’s a shame to leave a bad taste in the mouth.

"Can I get pizza at the bar?" A stool is pulled out for me. "You can have anything you want." . He tries to tempt me with an appetizing display of pitchers of fresh-squeezed blood orange juice and tomato juice for brunch cocktails. In the rear, just a few tables are taken in the lovely, airy dining room featuring a sky-blue background and posh, pearly gray banquettes. In the front barroom–dark, wooden shelves holding wine bottles add warmth. There’s loads of track lighting throughout.

The pizza descriptions on the menu all sound good. One has sausage, and there’s a four-cheese version. I’m stumped.

"Get the prosciutto. Trust me."

The bartender shows off their menu, rightly referring to it as diverse, and recommends the risottos in particular. It’s a mostly light list of salads, soups and pastas, some intriguing appetizers and a few Italian entrees as well.

I can see what will be my pizza being flipped high in the air. I request a glass of Satiro sangiovese from the chalkboard list ($9).

"Good choice. Think I’ll join you."

It’s a very pleasant, dry, smoky wood with some heft. The prosciutto pie ($13) is thin-crusted with golden-brown edges. The bottom is crisp and the top has that tender starchiness to meld well with its toppings. There’s plenty of fresh basil leaves over a layer of peppered mozzarella. The prosciutto itself is cut in wide swaths; silky, it almost melts in the mouth. My weekend-long pizza craving is sated. I can’t finish the big portion, and an offer is made to wrap up the rest. I’ll be back to try the pizza margherita.

It’s a relaxed, fading Sunday afternoon. Sunlight through the windows, Sinatra on the speakers. The bartender and I look through my Pottery Barn catalog. "I like this but maybe it’s too girlie," I say.

"It’s okay because you’re a girl."

A kitchen worker appears behind the bar and wordlessly and meticulously adjusts the ice on the raw bar tower. A number of different oysters are offered. Across the street, a couple is struggling with suitcases. Glancing through the tall, windowed doors, the bartender rags a fellow staffer, the Montrealer, "Daniel, go help them with their bags."

Then the bartender yells, "The lizard! The lizard jumped again!" and runs out of the bar.

I’m sure I must have misheard; I’m not so good at comprehending Australians.

But the luggage-laden couple looks stunned and most everyone in the restaurant runs to the windows or out to the street. A boy is entreated to "Come see the lizard!" I’m reluctant to get up; it takes a lot to get me away from a good pizza. Eventually I venture to the windows, but see only some Giorgione denizens patting a happy brown dog.

Daniel returns after a bit and explains that the iguana who lives on the third floor occasionally takes a dive out of its window and slides down the restaurant’s awning.

"Gosh, is it ok?" I ask.

"It’s running around." He puts his hands out and toggles them to indicate somewhat spastic quadrupedal locomotion. It had landed on all fours like a cat.

The bartender comes back in. "It was about to run into the street, but I herded it." He pitches from side to side indicating somewhat spastic bipedal locomotion. "I need one of those nets with the long handles."

Someone wants to know if the reptile left a suicide note.