Pass the Bread, Casanova

An attractively vertical duo of grilled eggplant slices ($11) — wrapped around chopped prosciutto with goat cheese, walnuts, and olive tapenade; spiked with asparagus spears; set on a few leaves of arugula; and drizzled with balsamic — was eminently edible. Asparagus must be chef Tulio's favorite vegetable. Its fat green heads poke up everywhere — with the Dover sole, in the salads, as one of many ingredients in the duck parpardelle, strewn liberally through the appetizers. The chef has a heavy hand with artichokes too. So forget about tasting that gavi di gavi or sauvignon blanc: No wine is going to stand up to the cynarin in the chokes or the meth­ionine in the asparagus (yes, that's the sulfurous compound that makes your pee smell funny). A shame, since Tulio's wine list is small but attractive, with a particularly nice selection of boutique reds from California, Washington, and Oregon. He might want to lighten up on those palate-corrupting veggies. After just two meals at Tulio's, I'm content to wait until spring for my next spear of asparagus.

They'd been out of squid and crab the first night we dined (our waiter's lengthy disquisition on how and why the calamari was not fresh was enough to put us off seafood anyway). An expensive appetizer of grilled calamari stuffed with spiced crab ($18) on our second visit was hugely disappointing: hunks of charred rubber wrapped around the bland, chopped meat of the crustacean that had long since lost any memory of moisture. Only good manners prevented me from spitting it into my napkin.

Beautiful Dover sole ($49) restored our faith in fish. Our waiter madcap temporarily pulled himself together and filleted it tableside — transparently delicate meat drizzled with a sage beurre blanc; may this perfect, elegant food never go out of fashion. A bowl of rigatoni Tulio ($18) satisfied absolutely: spiced sausage, chopped walnuts, mushrooms, and roasted red peppers in tomato sauce generously flecked with Parmigiano-Reggiano. I was less enthusiastic about my duck alla Tulio ($22). The silky parpardelle and roasted slices of duck breast were fine, but I'd beg for a lighter, Buddhist hand with the gorgonzola, asparagus, and porcini cream — ingredients as aggressive as athletes on steroids.

And a big bowl of cioppino ($34), the Italian immigrant's San Francisco version of bouillabaisse, a hearty, healthy stew of varied spices and textures, tossed together lobster tail in its shell, clams, mussels, calamari rings, and handsome, muscular shrimp in a winey tomato broth. But salmon chunks — too assertive and fatty — detracted from the shellfish's clean flavors. The whole point of cioppino anyway is to celebrate pristine local seafood. A true-to-origin version in Florida might combine Key West shrimp and coastal farmed clams with red snapper and spiny lobster. I'd be thrilled to shell out the 34 bucks for a soup like that.

Skip dessert. Tulio's doesn't make its own strawberry cheesecake anyway, and the foamy texture and slightly metallic undertaste isn't worth the extra calories.

So go for the pasta, the appetizers, the bar food, and the party, because when the place is spilling over with 30-somethings in their tank tops and little black dresses, clutching fruit-infused cocktails and shimmying around to live music — and no doubt using their newly memorized pick-up lines — my guess is that the place is a blast. But for pricey upscale Italian, Tulio's has a lot of strong local competition. After five months at this location, chef Tulio is, I think, still struggling to secure his niche. He's no slouch with hearty comfort food and homemade Italian classics. But his servers need to go back to boot camp.