The place had been de-tacked. Gone are the cheesy palm trees. The few flamingoes now are tasteful little icons, more homey symbols of this fine old establishment than tasteless symbols of American kitsch. The semi-circular room, with its floor to ceiling glass outer wall, looks cleaner and more elegant. The schlocky artwork with price tags attached is gone from the room's inner wall, replaced by tasteful colored drawings, each given its own little spotlight.
Decorations are quietly seasonal.
The tables are set with black iron and frosted glass tea lights, a bud vase holding fresh-cut baby's breath and carnations, and a cup full of crayons for drawing on the white butcher paper that covers the linen tablecloth. Perhaps I knew I'd be spending the rest of my life taking notes and wanted to get in as much doodling as possible. No vintage dates, unfortunately. Service was very good, with a busy waitress who managed to take good care of us, and a hostess who inquired as to our happiness and satisfaction enough times that I thought maybe she figured out who I was. The quest for the perfect bruschetta proceeds.