I'm afraid to report I have to agree mostly with the initial cool reception, even though Chef Jared Sippel has some notable notches on his belt, having worked at such acclaimed institutions such as Frasca in Boulder, and Quince in San Francisco. The restaurant itself is spacious, glowing with a warmth the is reflected by few of the staff. In fact, the most 'important' seeming front-of-house circulated the room with little decorum and zero conviviality. Perhaps they are concerned with typical New York restaurant survival angst, but that is no excuse, and in fact perpetuates any problems about which they may be stressing. True, the room was fairly vacant for our early arrival, but it filled up nicely as the evening progressed, giving it a much needed boost of energy. albeit coming from the patrons rather than the
staff. A tasty little potato pancake arrived as a welcome gift from the kitchen, which seemed to be bringing Germany or Austria into the fray as well, but aside from it being a tad greasy it was wonderfully tasty, achieving a chewy, golden crust to encase buttery rich tidbits of potato within. 
The menu follows a pretty standard format of snacks and salumi, and then meant-to-be-shared plates followed by main course pastas and secondi. From the snacks we tried a panzerotto, something like a small calzone, filled with spicy salami and smoked mozzarella. My Italian tablemate found it a little too piccante for his delicate palate, but I quite liked it, although pretty heavy for more than just a bite. But since the snacks are priced per piece, one order (a single piece) gave us each a taste and that was enough for both of us. Quite a few of the snacks have a Spanish backbone, like pinxtos and boquerones, bringing Spain into the fray alongside its eponymous neighbors. Sippel seems to have an affinity towards the fishy- I was dissuaded by our chipper server from the roasted Little Gem salad with its apparently anchovy-heavy broken vinaigrette and additional boquerones atop. But the mixed chicories he steered us towards as another salady option definitely had a fishy kick to them as well, thanks to a briny bagna cauda that forcefully overrode any hint of the eagerly anticipated black truffle vinaigrette. There was fragments of roasted fennel and some sliced fingerlings that helped
immensely, but once they were gone the salad didn't have much left to say. Better was the octopus, again of Spanish descent, served a la plancha, with bite-sized hunks more tender than their gigante bean counterparts (and with those, yassu Ellas), a solid plate spiked with harissa and Castelvetrano olives. 
Pasta selections looked strong, with innovative offerings such as fazzoletti with a rhubarb, fennel pollen and black pepper inflected pork ragu and nettle tagliolini with peeky toe crab and stinging nettles, as well as a few classic renderings like pappardelle sauced in red wine, beef and chicken liver. We both happened to opt for piscine entrees, however, his more successful ocean trout and my lackluster loup de mer. The salsa verde on the former is what perked his dish up, which also included "first of the season" white asparagus, although I don't know where this particular season is is situated, because here in
New York nothing has broken through the frozen soils yet except for perhaps a crocus shoot or two. The most exciting part of the loup (branzino or European seabass) was not the fish, which could have been fresher, but the humble smash of potatoes aside: it would seem all the pastis, olive oil, fennel and capers went to flavoring the 'taters instead of the fish. A side of roasted Brussels sprouts was similarly bland, in need of salt, and the 50 year old sherry vinegar which was supposedly must have died at 49, leaving it undetectable. A lot of the prosciutto with which is was roasted was left in the bottom of the crock, having included a somewhat excessive amount.
Perhaps against our better judgment we went for a dessert to share as well, but the buttermilk panna cotta didn't go too far to redeem a pretty disappointing dinner. The custard itself was lovely, cool and creamy with a gentle tang, but the three preserved cherries atop were tooth-achingly sweet, too small to cut up and disperse amongst the cream given a spoon as a utensil, but overpowering to eat whole, and also leaving most of the panna cotta to be consumed unadorned but for a crumble of buckwheat-cardamom streusel that did add a nice crunch. And serving it in the jar with its screw-top lid was clever and cute, but like a boyfriend: it's what inside that counts.
Verdict? Would I tornare/reviendrais/regresaria/epistrepso? I think not.
19 West 24th Street
tel. (212)600-5139
