Chef works new magic at the colorful Pink Door

The Pink Door is a gloriously gaudy, sometimes bawdy, three-ring circus of a restaurant.

Between the eclectic mix of music on stage in the lounge, the trapeze artist and cabaret acts in the dining room and the knockout views from the venerable restaurant's patio, it's easy to see how the Door's food might play second banana to all these enjoyable distractions. When was the last time you heard somebody say: "You've got to go eat at The Pink Door?"

Yet, something wonderful is going on in chef Steve Smrstik's kitchen, something worthy of a big round of applause.

Jacqulina Di Roberto opened the Door in 1981, which translates to a lifetime in restaurant years. Smrstik cooked there in the early days, but left to work in other restaurants, including Place Pigalle, The Painted Table, Tulio, Flying Fish and, most recently, the 35th Street Bistro in Fremont. Since slipping back through The Pink Door several months ago, Smrstik has reinvigorated the mostly Italian menu. That doesn't mean he has reinvented the wheel. Longtime customer favorites made from family recipes like lasagna and cioppino remain happily entrenched. There's lightness to the new offerings, though, a sense of playfulness and fun that matches the whimsical atmosphere.

On a recent Sunday, as a graceful aerial acrobat wriggled above tables, a teetering pair of lamb chops performed their own balancing act, stacked in the middle of my plate, atop fried potatoes and sugar snap peas. Another night, fat and sassy scallops arrived wearing a vivid salsa Verde chapeau. Ahi tuna seared just right -- not too raw, not overcooked -- was carved into wedges to show off its ruby flesh against the golden palette of creamy polenta and pepperonis, a mix of tomatoes, olives and sweet bell peppers. The flash-braised fiddlehead ferns -- poking out from under a grilled slab of swordfish -- were some of the best greens I've had this spring.

Let's backtrack and begin this ciao-down with some antipasti. The bruschette -- a trio of spreads smeared on toasted rustic bread -- was simple but inspired: the brilliant sweet pea and mint, an oil-cured imported tuna lolling on lemon-caper mascarpone cheese, artichoke and pesto. The meat and cheese antipasto platter was everything you'd expect -- paper-thin prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, olives, peppers -- plus welcome surprises like the marinated cranberry beans. A steaming bowl of clams and mussels steamed in vermouth, garlic and cream disappeared in a flurry of friendly conversation, those shellfish gone before we noticed, almost like a bag of peanuts passed around at a baseball game.

		Mike Urban / P-I
	The dining room offers funky charm enhanced by an ornate chandelier, a huge sideboard and a vintage fountain.

It was the monster-size gnocchi that I hold in highest starter esteem, though. These "Roman-style" semolina pasta nuggets were roughly the size of a giant scallop, and I fully expected them to be dense and gummy with those hefty dimensions. They were delicately dumplinglike, though, a distinct potato character adding weight without weighing them down. Our threesome stopped talking when the gnocchi arrived, as we jockeyed over the sauteed spinach-embellished starter, which provided a good size to share. The portion might be overwhelming for one as a first course.

On the leafy side of the menu, the house salad is built on a foundation of well-dressed tender greens, shaved carrots and fresh herbs. A mix of roasted beets, arugula, gorgonzola and toasted walnuts makes a winning case for the pleasures of contrasting sweet and sharp. The ubiquitous Caesar offers the option of a Dungeness crab add-on.

On one of those postcard-pretty spring afternoons, I sat on the magnificent deck marveling at the two-bean platform elevating the duly famous Copper River sockeye salmon, the combination of fava and green beans making for a Northwest by Italian succotash. The fillet of fish was grilled perfectly, the Omega-3-rich flesh translucent and flaky, not the medium rare treatment that's become de rigueur around Seattle, a cooking method that doesn't fully realize the fish's potential.

I also tried a bite of my buddy's lasagna, a beautifully sloppy casserole that's downright patriotic in its red, white and green: fresh spinach pasta layered with pesto, marinara and béchamel. Some of these ingredients must have shifted when the dish was assembled because some bites were definitely more flavorful than others. The best bites reminded me of my Aunt Josephine's fine cooking, the remainder were over-the-top creamy.

		Mike Urban / P-I
	"Tonno Di Ahi Peperonata" features seared rare tuna, creamy polenta and a mix of tomatoes, sweet bell peppers and olives.

The only other bummer over the courses of three meals was another pasta dish, the rigatoni and meatballs. While the golf-ball-size meatballs -- made with organically raised ground beef -- were exceptional, nicely seasoned, not too firmly packed and juicy, and the marinara respectable, the rigatoni was a couple of beats beyond al dente. That quibble might seem minor, except when your mission statement is carved out in Italian.

During the dinner I ordered the meatballs, on a busy Tuesday night, the food could have become only so much background noise. Because I couldn't get a table in the incredibly popular dining room -- its funky charm enhanced by an ornate chandelier, an enormous sideboard and a vintage fountain -- our party of four took potluck in the lounge and squeezed into a table by the stage. But when it became clear we were there to have dinner, the intuitive host offered to move us to a table better suited for a meal. Bravo! I can't remember another instance of more effective troubleshooting.

Not that we would have minded a front row seat for the seersucker-suited, '40s-tunes trio performing that evening. Band leader and Pink Door fixture Casey McGill isn't just any doo-wopper. This ukulele-strumming, piano-playing genius is the man behind the Broadway hit "Swing." And, diners/drinkers at The Pink Door can enjoy his clever vocal styling without paying a cent.

		Seattle P-I

There is a $12 charge for the weekend late-night cabaret, old chum. Yes, even if you've bought dinner, a policy that doesn't sit well with some diners.

After such generous portions, finding room for dessert can be a challenge. The staff will try and tempt you, though, bearing an old-fashioned tray of sweets that are hard to resist. I'm glad I gave in to the tart/sweet rhubarb shortcake, built on top of a tender, biscuit-y cake, and the triple shot of cream puffs, a teeny pitcher of warm, bittersweet chocolate on the side for drizzling. Surprisingly, the tiramisu had all the finesse of a Twinkie, the heavy-handed cream dominating the booze-soaked cake dish.

There's nothing groundbreaking about these desserts, just as there's nothing trendy about The Pink Door's perfectly put together cioppino, its fragrant tomato-based broth good to the last spoonful, or the tender lamb chops or the ocean of fish that's carefully handled. This is the kind of food that doesn't demand attention, but it sure deserves your consideration.