Seasons 52

Even the essential building block of its best items - dough for the long, paper-thin flatbreads - arrives prepackaged and frozen. That doesn't mean they aren't addictively tasty when properly cooked, scattered with shavings of sirloin, mushrooms, and blue cheese; or with tiny shrimps, cubed pineapple, and tangy streaks of (premade) chipotle sauce. But execution is a nagging issue here, and many of those delicate breads came burnt to an unsavory brown.

A number of other promising items on this menu suffered a similar fate, especially the grilled meats, whose subtle seasonings were overwhelmed by the raw heat of the grill, which left the pork tenderloin, lamb chops, and filet mignon tasting more like char than anything else. The scallops were totally undercooked (but fine on the second try). A special entree salad of tuna Nicoise was a special disaster. The gray fish was splayed beside meager greens that were both underseasoned and wilted by the heat of grilled veggies, including an almost inedible fennel bulb that was still half raw.

Even the tap water was funky, with ice cubes that gave off a freezer-burn taste when crunched.

It's a good thing there are plenty of other things here to drink. In fact, an outstanding wine program is undoubtedly Seasons 52's best side, with 120 quality labels and more than 50 available by the glass. Seasons uses fine, thin-crystal stemware, and the servers, who present each bottle tableside before pouring, were impressively versed on the list, which has a New World focus.

It isn't often I get to sip a premier chardonnay like Mer Soleil by the glass, or some zippy South African whites from Mulderbosch, or a range of Selbach-Oster rieslings and pinot blanc, which offer both value and a match to the menu's exotic leanings. There are some big-ticket bottles, too, like Opus One ($250) or Sassicaia ($300), for a really big splurge.

But if you've seen the wire caddy of micro-desserts moving around the dining room, you know this place is more about "mini-indulgences" than anything else. If you actually tasted these premade, slim-size renditions of Rocky Road, carrot cake, and Key lime pie, though, you'll know they're more or less shot glasses of brightly layered fluff. The indulgence, like so much else here, is only in the name.

Next Sunday, restaurant critic Craig LaBan reviews Umai Umai in Fairmount. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com.