Sept. 19 (Bloomberg) -- The customers, practically acolytes, stream in from across America. They're happy to pay anything, thrilled to wait as long as necessary. After all, this is Il Mulino, an Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village that is unlike any other, unless you count its nine branches worldwide.

The cost of eating here: $150-$175 per person, wine, veal and stupendously large portions included. The wait for your reservation to be honored: 30 minutes, minimum.

The discreet exterior -- lace curtains, gray-and-white- striped awning -- gives little warning of what awaits: a jammed bar, a torrent of unnecessary complimentary snacks, an onslaught of fast-moving waiters who are disinclined to answer questions.

Standing outside, you smell garlic. Contrary to common wisdom, that is not all you will taste. In descending order of domination, the primary flavors are oily, salty, garlicky and buttery.

You will not go hungry if you order a dish incorporating red sauce or cheese, nor will you feel cheated if you consent to the addition of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or freshly ground pepper. Il Mulino is generous, if nothing else.

The beautifully cooked Dover sole swims in an aquarium of butter. The veal parmigiana covers the plate. Over a thin, breaded, overcooked slice of meat there is so much tomato sauce and melted cheese the dish looks like a bone-in pizza.

The breadsticks are not to be believed: strips of toasted, salty, spicy focaccia so oily to the touch you'll feel as though you just checked the 10W-30 in your car.

Tourist Trade

While waiting at the bar, I chatted with a fellow from Austin, Texas. ``Best restaurant in the world,'' he said.

I sat next to a couple from Charlotte, North Carolina. ``Best food we ever ate,'' the woman said.

While at my undersized table, I noticed a young man polishing off his veal parmigiana, a noteworthy accomplishment. I tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he liked it. ``Amazing,'' he said.

What we have here is an exaggerated version of Italian- American cooking, sometimes called Bronx-Italian even though it predates the Bronx. While Italian food with more authenticity is gaining popularity in America, this style of oversized, oversauced, overcooked cuisine endures.

Il Mulino was founded in 1981 by brothers from Abruzzo who are now retired, although the restaurant Web site continues to emphasize the connection. I asked a waiter if he could select an item of Abruzzese cuisine for me. He waved at the menu and replied, ``This is all from Abruzzo.'' Right. And I'm from the Vatican.

Too Many Dishes

Stracciatella Fiorentina. Spaghettini Bolognese. Costoletta alla Milanese. For that matter, nothing tastes Italian. The food is pure Americana, and it would be fine -- although frightfully expensive -- were it carefully cooked. Only the Dover sole and the equally good branzino showed signs of finesse.

The reason for the kitchen's carelessness is obvious: too many dishes cooked too fast. The menu lists 55 items, not including desserts, which are house-made but commercial-tasting. Waiters recite at least 20 specials at auctioneer speed.

At Il Mulino, everything and everybody moves like a rocket -- veloce come un razzo, as they say. You will wait for a table, but you won't linger after that.

The dining room is small, dark and cramped. It has flowered wallpaper, a weirdly glazed brick wall, a painting of a water mill (evoking Lowell, Massachusetts) and another of a walk in the woods (evoking Jane Austen).

Wine Markups

The wine list is adequate, although the prices might make you gasp. A half-bottle of Moscato d'Asti that costs the restaurant seven or eight dollars goes for $75.

Most fascinating is the service, unlike any other I've encountered. The waiters wear tuxedos and white ties, a parody of formality -- all that's lacking are sashes and medals. They're knowledgeable, deft and cool, but they refuse to listen until the moment you commit to your meal. I had one waiter turn away three times. At each occurrence, I was asking a question.

Here's a snapshot of service:

``Are you ready to order?''

``Not quite,'' you reply.

``No hurry.''

Thirty seconds later he's back, and the scenario recycles.

Such haste is beneficial when you ask for your check. It's there instantaneously, handwritten and usually accurate, although I was charged $45 for a $37 veal Milanese with gritty breading.

I asked the couple from North Carolina if they were bothered by the service.

``Oh, no,'' she said. ``They're rude because that's the way it is in Italy.''

The Bloomberg Questions

Cost? Prices range from $9.75 for soups to $40 for a veal chop with cheese and wild mushrooms.

Sound level? Loud, despite acoustical tile on the ceiling. However, tables are so small conversation is not difficult.

Date place? The coat rack in the bar, behind the desserts, is a great place to canoodle while waiting for your table. You'll be next to the cookies should you get hungry.

Inside tip? The famous onslaught of freebies includes hot, oily garlic bread; cold, oily zucchini; chewy, bland pepperoni; a cold, tasteless mussel; ordinary parmesan; and soggy bruschetta topped with good chopped tomatoes. Eat the tomatoes.

Special feature? The ricotta cheesecake, which tastes like amaretto-laced pudding, elicited the only impulsive comment from a waiter: ``Yummy, yummy.''

Private Room? No.

Lunch? Yes.

Will I be back? No. I barely endured three dinners.

Il Mulino is at 86 W. 3rd St. Information: +1-212-673-3783 or http://www.ilmulinonewyork.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: September 19, 2007 00:04 EDT