Ago.(Restaurant review)

It might seem like piling on to knock Ago, since Frank Bruni, writing in the Times, recounted being subjected to "the 'Poseidon Adventure' of wine spills," and Alan Richman offered his compliments, on his GQ blog, "to the chef--if there is one--on finding multiple variations on the theme of overcooked." (There is an "executive chef partner," Ago Sciandri, and his Web site features his head shot alongside one of Robert DeNiro, a partner in the venture.) But Ago, one of a chain of Italian trattorias that began in Hollywood and metastasized to South Beach, Las Vegas, and now Tribeca, might be the most cynical Californian export since Euro Disney. One is tempted to wonder, amid lurid cocktails and exhibitionist patrons, if the whole thing might not be Angelenos' revenge ploy against the city that gave them Paris Hilton.

Ago offers a Blueberry Martini, which comes garnished with the dry, mottled lemon that seems to have appeared on the lip of every glass of Diet Coke served this decade. It isn't fit for a Smurf. One night at the bar, a couple made out with an athleticism, and a sense of privacy, more often associated with sandy beaches on desert islands. Another time, a party waited to be seated, only to be dumped at a table ...