April 11 (Bloomberg) -- When is a restaurant ready to be reviewed? Six weeks? Two months? We critics long to know.

In the case of Morandi, Keith McNally's new and frenetically popular Italian spot in Greenwich Village, precisely 39 days.

On March 30 and once before, I had dinner. The meals could not have been worse.

On March 31, I had dinner. A few days later, lunch. Delightful, both times.

Mostly, it was the cooking that changed, and I wasn't altogether surprised. The food of Jody Williams -- veteran of Il Buco and Gusto, specialist in rustic Italian cuisine -- could not possibly have remained so bad.

It was never the table service, charming and unflappably Italianate.

It was in part the look of the place, which takes patience to interpret and accept. First impression: Has McNally lost his mind? Later: Now I understand.

Morandi is straightforward, hectic, loud and blond. I still don't get the blond. The look seems Swiss, which makes sense only when you realize that you must yodel to be heard.

Should you come on the late side of a busy night, which is all of them, you will almost certainly find yourself stranded in the area between the door and the bar. Expect bedlam.

On my first visit, and I do not exaggerate, I wasn't certain the maitre d' spoke English. I waited 40 minutes at the fringes of the seven-deep bar. I was banged around by every form of humanity, a tribute to the diversity of the clientele.

Dinner Gantlet

Most punishing were waiters carrying plates of food from the illogically placed kitchen. My guest, a fastidious sort, disliked the idea that her dinner would have to pass through a human gantlet.

Once seated, I quickly ordered two fried dishes: whole adolescent artichokes (too large to be called ``baby'') and a fritto misto of seafood. Both were exquisite, the artichokes with blackened outside leaves and a creamy heart, the fish done so expertly (perfectly boned smelt, heads-on shrimp, tender calamari) that I suspected I was embarking on an extraordinary dining experience.

And so I was. Of the next 14 dishes over two visits, 13 were second-rate or worse. Overcooked branzino, insipid spaghetti with clams, burned-edge buckwheat pasta, flabby bass carpaccio, tough fennel, tougher radicchio, inexplicably dry Italian-style ice cream. On it went.

I tried to order from every menu category, hoping to learn if all were unsatisfactory, but there are 17 of them (including desserts) and I couldn't possibly eat enough. The single item I enjoyed, fried stuffed olives, tasted like olive-flavored, breaded meatballs.

Expert Frying

Throughout two meals, nothing was worth eating except the fritti. Fried foods remained fantastic, before and after March 31.

Came that very evening. I warned friends joining me that disaster awaited. I begged forgiveness beforehand.

Almost magically and absolutely unexpectedly, we had a fine dinner. Maybe we fortuitously ordered dishes that Williams does well. Most likely, it was due to a 6:30 p.m. reservation, which meant a reduction in the level of chaos -- including in the kitchen. Perhaps fewer people were begging to get in, having comprehended the awful nature of the food.

Also, Susan Sarandon was sitting across from me, a few feet away. That helped. I noticed that she disappeared for about an hour during the main courses. Maybe even she anticipated a catastrophic dining experience.

My friends, one of them an architect, joined me in contemplation of the design. McNally, master of evocative retro recreations (Odeon, Balthazar, Schiller's), had never failed before.

I already understood the noise level: not a soft surface, tiny wood or copper-topped tables jampacked with highly conversational customers.

Italian Schmaltz

What I had difficulty determining was why Morandi was so schmaltzy. Straw-covered Chianti fiascos lining the walls. Cartoonish chandeliers. Beamed ceiling. We decided McNally was imitating those tiny, touristy Italian trattorias found throughout Italy, especially in Florence.

You might find the place charming. I doubt it, but at least I'm confident that McNally tried.

The first nonfried dish I did not push aside was marinated skate with red onions, pine nuts and currants, slightly sweet- and-sour, exquisitely finessed.

Bagna cauda, in this case not the Piedmontese fondue, turned out to be well-balanced anchovy-and-garlic sauce atop fresh radishes. The baccala, house dried and salted, seemed supercharged by anchovies and came with buttery soft polenta. A Florentine-style porterhouse steak for two was remarkably Florentine, which I do not mean entirely as a compliment. Great flavor; decidedly chewy.

Meatballs a Must

At another meal, lunch, I finally tried Williams's signature meatballs. They contained currants and pine nuts, as do so many of her dishes. Fortunately, she is really good with currants and pine nuts. These are meaty meatballs, not to be missed.

Desserts rallied, too. A special of ricotta fritters were donuts at their best -- my compliments to the fry cook yet again. Tiny cannolini were fresh and crunchy, all anyone can ask. The chocolate pudding was dark and intense. Another special, tiramisu, had perilously delicious mascarpone cream piled ridiculously high.

A few notes of caution.

The pastas never recovered. They're heavy, oddly unsavory and austere, even when loaded with ingredients. The exception: Hand-rolled spaghetti is so flavorsome it matters not that the lemon and Parmesan fails to bond with the pasta.

Tricky Wines

The wine list is difficult. Also, not so good. Wine by the glass, half-liter or liter from all over Italy is an ambitious idea, but they're neither a bargain nor tasty. Beware the oxidized Vermentino. Try a bottle of 2005 Greco di Tufo, a white from Feudi di San Gregorio, well-priced at $39.

Finally, a confession. Several friends chastised me, saying I should have found pleasure in the intensity of the excruciatingly mobbed Morandi bar. I had to learn how to be pulled along by the undertow, swept up by the energy. They said a genuine New Yorker finds that more vital than merely eating excellent food.

The Bloomberg Questions

Cost? Prices range from $6 for bruschetta e ricotta (grilled bread with sheep's milk cheese) to $72 for the steak for two.

Sound level? Think of the roar of the crowd at the Roman Colosseum.

Date place? Yes, because it's a place to be, not because it's a place to talk.

Inside tip? The reservationist said, ``Lunch is not going to be as competitive as dinner. Not the same hair-pulling will happen.''

Special feature? Much like the famed Chez L'Ami Louis in Paris, coats can be tossed into a space behind your table.

Private Room? No.

Lunch? Yes, and it's comparative bliss.

Will I be back? Not after 9 p.m. any time in my life.

Morandi is at 211 Waverly Place, near Charles Street. Information: +1-212-627-7575 or http://www.morandiny.com.

(Alan Richman is a restaurant critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this story: Alan Richman at thecritic@optonline.net.

Last Updated: April 11, 2007 00:02 EDT