finding space in one of the Saloon's parking lots.
The thought occurs that a secret to popularity here might be the atmosphere - a mix of polished mahogany paneling, old mirrors, stained glass and turn-of- the-century artifacts - that creates a distinctly clubby feeling.
Regulars are made to feel that they belong. Membership of sorts comes with ability to pay, and, until recently, when one credit card was accepted, the ability to pay in cash.
Over the years, I've heard vendors talk of sending their finest provisions to this South Seventh Street address. But not even money can produce a summer tomato in late May, so I wasn't surprised at lunch when a tomato and mozzarella appetizer arrived with slices of would-be tomato so pale and wan that not even the good olive oil, fresh basil and decent mozzarella could save them from terminal blandness.
A better starter was a partner's salad of warm, coarsely shredded radicchio blended with slices of shiitake mushroom in a very good, slightly vinegary dressing.
Salad tomatoes may have disappointed; the Saloon's freshly made tomato sauces, on the other hand, were among the meal's highlights. One such sauce bathed an order of cannelloni made with light and delicate veal filling, thin and tender pasta. Another, spiked with fresh basil, glossed queen-size shrimp that were disappointingly chewy, almost muscular.
Desserts - a perfect lemon tart and a just-sweet-enough berry tart - brought the lunch to a satisfying conclusion.
Dinner a few weeks later got off to a conspicuously bad start.
First, there was the search for parking in one of the restaurant's lots that ended with our being told, by an attendant who materialized only after the car was snugly in place, that he could vouch for the safety of only those vehicles that had been personally parked by him. Told to the Saloon's hostess, the story brought sympathetic reassurances that the car's safety would be guaranteed by the restaurant.
A TIGHT SQUEEZE
