Formerly the site of a nail spa in a strip mall off Shelmore, the restaurant has been strikingly transformed into a chic, sophisticated space. Set two doors down from sister restaurant Langdon’s, the airy restaurant features an open kitchen and communal tables, as well as sweeping views of the Bi-Lo parking lot.

Having already tackled California-Mediterranean and Lowcountry cuisine, Chef Patrick Owens’ latest menu is focused on a sundry mix of raw seafood, salads, and wood-fired pizzas. With high top tables, TVs tuned to sportsball and Michael Jackson and Prince hits blaring overhead, there’s a pronounced bar vibe despite the upscale decor. It’s unclear where or why the rock concert-level music volume trend started, but here’s hoping it stops.

On the food front, I got the ball rolling — and some blood pumping — with the market ceviche ($16). And wow, nothing like a habanero-induced coughing fit to kick off a meal. Unabashedly traditional, it’s made with light citrus, pungent red onion, and the day’s fresh catch of raw flounder. Served with four narrow slices of fried corn tortilla, double-dipping is unavoidable. The price to portion ratio seems a bit off, but the greater issue for most might be the heat level. “I wish they’d warned us we were going to have our faces roasted off,” muttered my habanero-scarred dining companion after a few fiery bites.

In contrast, the roasted octopus ($16) is an exercise in sublimity. Beautifully charred, yet still tender, the two tentacles are plated on a bed of soft, lustrous butter beans. Rich yet still delicate, baby lima beans — not to mention your mouth — never had it so good. Accompanied by dollops of tart romesco, the Italian-infused perfection is marred only by the reality that the portion is so very diminutive. I cried a little.

The local wood-roasted mushrooms and kale salad ($12), however, finds a generous allowance of greens tossed with thyme and a copious amount of an in-yo-face, bracingly sour lemon dressing. Topped with a lavish dusting of Reggiano, the flavors are fresh yet substantial and one of the better kale salads I’ve had in some time. If a ‘choose your own level of dressing adventure’ option could be introduced (light/medium/deluge), this dish would be on par with the sensational octopus.

Meanwhile, it appears pizza is on the verge of becoming an ubiquitous offering. Pizza and Italian food? Of course. Pizza and bar food? Sure, why not? Pizza and Indian or Halal cuisine? California sees no problems there. Thus, I suppose one can’t be too blutterbunged by the coexistence of a pizza and raw bar.

Notably, the two offerings don’t really have much to do with one another: It might be interesting to see a crisp wood-fired crust topped with some grilled octopus or a smattering of lemony kale and mushrooms? Nevertheless, the presence of pie ups the odds that someone in your dining party will find something on the menu they enjoy.

The Margherita ($14) is the obvious and inclusive crowd pleaser. Essentially a cheese pizza and in no way erroneous in its preparation, it shakes out a little Plain Jane. Featuring a slightly charred crust and a sweet tomato sauce, plus shredded basil and dollops of fresh mozzarella, there’s nothing much to complain about, yet nothing much to see.

In contrast, as “I Just Called To Say I Love You” blared loudly overhead, the friendly, efficient waitress strongly endorsed the Opal pizza ($15). The thin crust features mozzarella, goat cheese, and duck ham, as well as slices of pimento, which is then topped with an arugula salad tossed in a garlic oil-based dressing. There’s a lot going on here, and I don’t like it much, but that’s arguably a matter of personal taste more than execution.

Still, pizza is pizza and there’s a whole lot of it in this part of the world as of late. For my dinero, find me sidling up to the raw bar or grabbing a couple orders of the roasted octopus while ogling the views of the parking lot outside.

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Food-wise, however, things veer more ordinary and decidedly ‘tweaked bar food’ in flavor and approach. Although my waitress strongly recommended the King Street nachos ($12) — made with potato chips and pimento cheese — as well as the quesadilla filled with smoked pulled chicken ($12), I started with the shrimp tacos ($12).

Three flour tortillas house two battered shrimp apiece, plus grilled onions, poblanos, and bell peppers. The peppers were still quite crisp and the crunch kept it fresh. Topped with slivers of avocado and a cilantro-spiked crema, it’s a Tex Mex-influenced riff on the usual. Yes, the fire-roasted tomato salsa borders on Italian and some tart fresh lime might’ve been nice, but overall this is a pleasing dish and a large enough portion to comprise a meal.

Meanwhile, the smoked chicken wings ($11) materialize as a stack of 10 grilled wings coated in your choice of honey sriracha, classic buffalo, or maple mustard glaze. I chose the buffalo sauce, which wasn’t terribly reminiscent of the customary Frank’s Red Hot/butter/Worcestershire combo of Anchor Bar origins. Rather, the sauce functions as something of a glaze, immediately slipping off the chicken and congealing on the plate. The meat itself is tender, with notable smoky flavor, but the skin is flabbier than typical fried buffalo wings. It’s hard to say, but perhaps selecting another sauce option may render things more satisfying?

Similarly, consider requesting a light hand with the dry sherry, as the she crab soup ($6 cup/$8 bowl) was downright boozy. I appreciate a touch of Amontillado as much as the next guy, but this could honestly be described as a floater. That’s truly a shame as it otherwise may have been the crabbiest bisque — chockablock with thick pieces in each mouthful — I’ve ever encountered. Let that booze cook off a little or leave it off the top altogether, and this is otherwise a lovely, decadent option.

My friendly server raved about the classic caesar salad ($5 small/$7 large, meats additional) and she wasn’t kidding. Romaine lettuce is dressed in a garlicky caesar dressing rich with hints of buttermilk. Topped with some homemade croutons and a copious amount of grated Parmesan cheese, if you’re looking to gain five pounds via a five dollar salad … Well, game on.

The Pasta Jambalaya ($18) is interesting, mostly in a good way. As you know, much like clam chowder, there are two general varieties of jambalaya: Creole and Cajun, the former of which uses tomatoes. Ink N Ivy is of the Manhattan variety, as it were. In addition to the holy trinity of peppers, onions, and celery, there are also the perceptible elements of paprika, thyme, and cayenne. Topped with four shrimp, as well as an assortment of chopped smoked chicken, pork tenderloin, and andouille sausage, the otherwise fairly traditional preparation is served over linguine. Arguably simpler to assemble than an actual jambalaya, it’s a little out of left field, but still a dependable way to get your Creole on.

Last up, the salmon BLT ($16) is mostly a winner, featuring a large brioche bun filled with a beautifully cooked filet of salmon. It’s topped with bibb lettuce, a slice of tomato, and two thin strips of tough pork belly heavy with smoke flavor and cooked within an inch of their lives. Lacking any fatty unctuousness, it begs the question: Why bother? Use real bacon or skip it altogether, as the salmon is enough to carry the day. The soft brioche is slathered with a bright lemon dill mayo, further accenting the lush fish.

A little bit zany, a whole lot bar food, and not nearly the psychotropic, yin yang trip through time I feared, Ink N Ivy offers a dependable way to soak up some booze or recover from too much the night before in a space that’s a little self-consciously decorated, but in a way that’s (happily) far more Angelina Jolie than Ed Sheeran.

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On that note, Southern Roots Smokehouse in Park Circle is making me nervous. Occupying the space previously filled by the Barbeque Joint, SRS brings some much-needed barbecue offerings to the area. However, upon first approach one thing is clear: Despite its name, there doesn’t seem to be much smoke.

The menu is also a bit unusual, with a committed ‘Jack of all trades’ bar food-type approach. Starting at the top, I’ve never known a day some pork rinds ($6) didn’t make better. Crackly, puffy, and aerated, they’re served warm and still popping. I may or may not have consumed the entire thing, despite my dining companion’s occasional feedback: “You’ve eaten more than half of those.” “You maybe should slow down.” “People are starting to stare.” Etc.

The space has been opened up since the Barbeque Joint days, and now features extensive picture windows and outdoor picnic table seating. A large wrap-around bar offers flat-screen TVs airing sportsball matches, while the high ceilings and wood floors lend a casual, airy vibe.

The smoked wings (five for $5/10 for $10) are as well-priced as they are delicious. One of the few dishes with a perceivable smoke flavor, this is what success tastes like. Moist and flavorful, they should do whatever they’re doing here to the rest of the meats.

For example, the sliders ($8, brisket $9) — one pork and one chicken — which remained on their plate, virtually untouched. Containing the second driest meat I’ve ever encountered in my life, it’s trumped only by a Thanksgiving turkey so parched, it crumbled off the bone. Served on potato rolls and accompanied by a single pickle chip, start sampling the restaurant’s array of homemade barbecue sauces and pick a favorite. You’re going to need it.

Both meats have a very light smoky flavor, as though cooked traditionally and exposed to smoke only at the end. The pork is coated in a peppery rub, with a notable amount of gristle, and a minimal smoke ring. When I inquired as to the site of said smoking, I was pointed to a food truck parked outside on the street, which answered some questions the Pick Three ‘Create Your Own’ plate ($19/$21 with brisket or ribs) asked.

On the plate, the brisket looked the part, but quickly revealed itself to be lukewarm and bone dry, with the consistency of overcooked toast. Despite a nice bark, the pulled pork didn’t fare any better in this iteration. But none suffered so much as the St. Louis-style spare ribs. A pig died in vain that night. Chewy and flavorless, the meat is riddled with vast expanses of cartilage that have somehow converted to a gummy bear-like consistency. At the same time, the dryness level prevails, with my notes indicating “I feel like I’m eating a towel.”

My friendly waitress suggested the mashed potatoes with gravy, a truly baffling recommendation. Insipid and watery, the only real flavors were those of thyme and garlic powder. Topped with cloyingly sweet gravy seasoned with Old Bay, this is a major swing-and-a-miss. “How could you do this to me?” my dining companion moaned in a comment I presumed was meant for the server.

The collards, however, were flavorful, starting with a pronounced molasses note that fades to vinegar and finishes with a punch of cayenne pepper. Some rinds, some wings, and a side of collards would not be a bad way to play this.

Although the staff is welcoming, the location ideal, and the bright, open space appealing, it’s hard not to worry about Southern Roots Smokehouse’s future. In an area with so much great barbecue, a smokehouse without much smoke feels more like a punchline than a recipe for sustained restaurant success. Nonetheless, may the odds be ever in their favor.

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G is for grace, grit, gastronomy, gluttony, and girth. Set in the Holiday Inn Express and Suites on Wingo Way in Mt. Pleasant, Grace & Grit provides a beautiful, airy space with a menu that promises to bring all these “G” words into your life, at least potentially.

At its core, the restaurant is predicated on a gimmick, but it’s a contrivance that works, with grits rendered in enough colors and flavors to bring to mind a gelato shop. A veritable Baskin Robbins of coarse ground corn, there are nine or 10 rich, savory options — not to mention a handful of sweet, creamy selections — on offer. But regardless of the nuances, make no mistake: This is some next-level decadence.

The grit flight ($10) sets the stage, while simultaneously alpha-dogging your ticker.

The first — a bright green, butter-heavy Brussels pesto grits — presents traditional basil and parmesan notes backed by the earthy sprout flavor. Reminiscent of risotto, it’s decadent as all hell. Similarly, the pimento cheese variation is chockablock with roasted bell pepper and cheddar notes. It tastes like what it is, grits loaded with cheese dip.

In contrast, the coconut cream grits — a dessert-style variation — are lightly flavored, but heavy with sweet creaminess. The dark purple blueberry grits were an unexpected pleasure, kind of like eating a warm velvety bowl of cobbler. No fat has been spared in the preparation of this food, but you only live once.

If you’d prefer to survive a little bit longer, the pickled shrimp and Sweetbay bibb wraps ($8.50) are a solid choice. Here the typically Asian offering has a distinctly local flair, with three lettuce leaves filled with a salad of tender black eyed peas and pinto beans, which is then topped with three halved shrimp and a bright, lemony dressing. The only thing interrupting the mostly genteel Southern sensibilities is the potent finish of robust cilantro microgreens.

But where the shrimp wraps are fresh and light, the North Carolina crab and corn fritters ($13) are dense and doughy. The two, golf-ball sized fritters are panko-coated and deep fried. Moreover, corn is not really in season and doesn’t add much. Considering the product and price point, I’d rather see the delicate crab meat showcased in a more elegant preparation.

The accompanying pickled collard slaw can stay though. Made with (presumably) leftover collards, thinly sliced Brussels sprouts, and red cabbage in a light poppyseed dressing, it’s sweet and vinegary with a good toothy crunch. Similarly, the tarragon remoulade and pungent lemon jam are both superb and deserving of a more worthy companion.

Staff is outfitted in blue plaid shirts and denim jeans, and the down home look extends to the service. Warm and friendly, servers are attentive but not too much so. The space itself is filled with windows and is wide open and elegant, yet still cozy. Not a bad spot to while away a couple hours.

The sweet tea-brined pork chop ($24) is served on the bone. Moist and tender with a great char flavor, the accompanying peaches and cream grits are bland and indiscernible, minus the pronounced elements of “rich” and “sweet.” The generous portion of sweet tea reduction on top has notes of molasses and renders everything a little too sugary. I would have preferred a more savory grit, or maybe something like a caramelized onion sauce instead of the sugary reduction, to calibrate. The accompanying collard greens are well-balanced with bacon and vinegar. Perfectly tender and boldly seasoned, they help to counter the treacliness of the rest of the dish.

Meanwhile, the pan roasted grouper ($34) delivers a generous, eight-ounce chunk of fish. Beautifully seared with a rich golden crust, yet still tender inside, it’s served atop a seasonal hash of Brussels sprouts, cubed sweet potatoes, and red and yellow beets. Also made with house bacon and fresh herbs, the zesty citrus butter melted over the flaky fish brightens and brings the dish together while maintaining the fatty decadence you’ve come to expect.

A clever gimmick backed by confident technique, Grace & Grit offers upscale southern dishes flanked by a kaleidoscope of fancified coarse ground corn. Although maybe not recommended for everyday consumption, if they offered a blindfolded tasting of them all, followed by a two-hour session of a bootcamp-style workout, I’d be there in a heartbeat. Otherwise, plan to pace yourself in the interest of continued coronary health.

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Shellmore’s menu is tiny, featuring fresh oysters and four or five small plates that rotate nightly. The offerings range from arugula and apple salad, to steak tartare ($13), the latter of which was available on both of my visits. The contemporary remix featured the traditional cubed, raw beef, plus fried capers and an arty smear of dijon mustard. Thinly sliced pickled red onions and a firm sous vide egg wink at tradition, while fresh oregano adds a pungent, earthy element. Served with three, thin-toasted slices of baguette, it’s at once progressive and sentimental.

Emphatically comforting, the rich and homey beef and pork ragu ($18) was dotted with pine nuts and fresh basil leaves. Although unquestionably lovely, it’s the delicate cubes of pillowy homemade gnocchi that elevated what could be simply nostalgic into an elegant and graceful memory.

But as much as there are highlights at Shellmore, there are some baffling blunders, like a bitter shrimp ceviche ($14) cured with mango, lime, and lemon juices. The generous scoop of tiny shrimp were mixed with cilantro and pungent, overpowering scallion slices. Served with thick blue corn chips, it feels like the start of something special, somehow abandoned mid-execution.

Perhaps this is just a reflection of the clear state of overwhelm in the kitchen, as the pace of the dishes started slowly and crept to a stall so lengthy that free wine and even — eventually — additional food was brought to the table without comment. “What you ought to do is wander back there like you’re looking for the bathroom and then try to figure out what’s going on,” suggested my hungry dining companion, while gesturing toward the kitchen.

The front of the house is run by just two people and at times their concise, soldier-like efficiency approaches disdain. It’s hard to blame them, however, as the volume level on a busy night is enough to put a Zen master on edge.

Meanwhile, a clunky corn and tomato salad ($10) included overripe red and yellow tomato slices, plus indestructible croutons tossed with fresh parsley, vibrant arugula, and a powerfully garlicky vinaigrette. Vampires and bad breath-a-phobes take note: This ain’t no fooling around. Although likely delightful at the peak of the summer, in early October, chasing individual kernels of yellow corn around a plate filled with mushy tomatoes feels notably out of season.

In happy, memorable contrast, the apples, blue cheese, and arugula salad ($10) served just one week later was a spot-on celebration of autumn bounty. Tossed with candied walnuts, pickled carrots and a touch of mint, this was a bright, piquant dish rendered sumptuous by copious dots of rich blue cheese.

There are less than 20 wines offered by the glass ($8-$17), with three rosés, a cava, and a Syrah blend making the list. As my wine expert dining companion noted, “A wine bar offering 18 choices is like an ice cream shop with five flavors.” There’s also a lack of options with regard to pour size, nor an opportunity to taste before committing. The less-seasoned among us — present company included — will have to decide whether the words “bright acidity” or “delicate and floral” are more appealing.

It must be noted that the butter roasted cod ($19) was an exercise in both patience and technique. Roughly an hour and a half from ordering to appearance, it was also a beautiful, elegant dish. The finished product fell nothing short of sublime. Plated on delicate, tarragon-infused whipped sweet potato purée and toothy haricot vert, it’s heaven, so long as you have a couple hours to spare/drool in anticipation.

No doubt the place for I’On residents to go and talk about friends and neighbors in volume-cloaked anonymity, The Shellmore is a promising spot to enjoy some wine and sample a few small plates. And if you happen to have a huge amount of time on your hands? All the better.

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Alas, no one asked me. And Kairos, which the interweb translates as “a propitious moment for decision or action,” is probably easier to remember. Walk in and you’ll quickly note it’s something of a Chios of Chipotles or Mykonos of Moe’s. That last one is no real surprise as Ondo’s business partner, Cary Chastain, is the owner and operator of all area Moe’s franchises.

In typical fast-casual style, you approach the large glass case and find a menu divided into three base choices — a pita ($7.29) or a bowl ($7.79), which an be made with either basmati rice or salad of romaine or spinach. From there choose from four protein options — falafel, chicken, or meatballs, as well as lamb ($1.49 upcharge) — which can then be garnished with a host of Mediterranean-style toppings.

Ondo’s lamb is slow-roasted and cut into tender chunks. It’s simple and well-seasoned, such that the flavor of the meat shines through. Unlike Greek gyros, traditionally made with shaved slices of rotisserie-cooked pork or American gyros, sliced from a spool of seasoned, minced lamb or beef, assembling a gyro-esque pita at Kairos yields different results. The meat portion is not large, so much of the sandwich ends up being more about the spreads and toppings than anything else.

As for spreads, I went with the hummus, which is lemony and basic. Light on tahini and garlic, it’s perfectly serviceable. The Baba ganoush, made with airy mashed eggplant, is also lemony with just a hint of tahini. It’s surprisingly well-done considering the simple setup and wide swath of choices.

Harissa, the red pepper-based condiment and foundation of Tunisian cuisine, also makes the “spreads” list and the sweet, spicy paste is a natural with falafel. Kairos gives you four crisp balls, filled with whole chickpeas and packed with the flavors of cumin and fresh parsley. Possessing a lightly spicy finish, the falafel holds its own despite having been prepared an indiscriminate amount of time ago. Nothing beats crisp falafel fresh from the fryer, but if you don’t have that kind of time, this is a satisfactory substitute.

Personally, I preferred the large pillowy pitas, but Kairos rice and salad options have their place. The array of spreads and toppings can quickly get overwhelming, so I was relieved when a friendly employee materialized from the back to help with my analysis paralysis. At her suggestion, I also added some tzatziki, the traditional Greek cucumber and yogurt-based sauce.

Until I read otherwise, I was nursing a theory that someone tasted Chef Ondo’s tzatziki and said, “you gotta open a restaurant with this as the keystone.” Thick and garlicky, with thin strands of cucumber and dill, it’s excellent and should be ladled upon everything.Especially the chicken, whose hard seared-chunks were rather dry. A near-blank canvas for the toppings, it’s probably the protein of choice for anyone who doesn’t want to eat lamb or anything all that Greek, but the weakest overall.

For my $7.29/$7.79, I’d ask for the meatballs. Hand-formed and cooked to medium, they’re served in a red sauce, which no doubt helped to keep them so tender and juicy inside. My favorite of the proteins, the only thing that might make them better is if there was a little mint, the way I remember keftedes in Greece.

Toppings abound with feta cheese, kalamata olives and a light, bright tabbouli, and two of the strongest options were a cucumber and tomato salad and an intense purple Israeli-style cabbage salad.

Former Lana lovers missing Chef Ondo’s gnocchi al funghi, bolognese or risotto of the day will find no reprieve from their longing here. However, for anyone in a rush in the southern part of Mount Pleasant and in the mood for some world-class tzatziki, the Santorini of Subways awaits.

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Set in a strip mall on Maybank Highway, the menu covers a wide swath of Vietnamese dishes. Starting with the obvious, the pho tai bo vien ($10.95) with meatballs and rare beef is everything you’d hope. The clear, brown broth is well-developed with discernible hints of star anise and cinnamon. Accompanied by the usual suspects of Thai basil, cilantro, and bean sprouts, as well as thinly sliced onion and fresh jalapeños, there are no real surprises here, but in the case of a classic, that’s a good thing.

The friendly, enthusiastic waiter was teeming with ardent advice. Based on his direction, I also tried the bun dac biet ($11.95). Think deconstructed Vietnamese summer roll topped with chopped up bits of fried spring rolls on top. The plate is bifurcated with one side comprised of shredded iceberg lettuce and the other loaded with thin rice noodles topped with grilled pork, shrimp, and the aforementioned spring rolls. Simple and bland, don’t even think about taking a bite without adding some of the accompanying fish sauce. Voila, the salty, umami sauce adds a flavor bump, transforming what was just a yawn into a light, savory dish with interesting contrasts in temperature and texture.

The same server’s direction toward the banh xeo ($8.95) was spot-on. Not long after, the Vietnamese pan crepes were delivered by a shy, sweet woman who identified herself as the chef and then pantomimed the steps by which to eat the dish. The ‘crepe’ itself is savory and crispy, almost reminiscent of a fried corn tortilla. Filled with bean sprouts, sliced pork, and bay shrimp, the main event is accompanied by a second plate of greenery including cilantro, Thai basil, and cucumber slices, along with iceberg lettuce leaves. We were instructed to take the ingredients and make a lettuce wrap of sorts, then dip it into the sweet and spicy sauce, filled with sliced onion and shredded carrots. Fresh, crisp, and flavorful, this is a must-order item.

Also on point was the mi xao tau hu ($9.95), stir-fried rice noodles made with thin slices of firm tofu. Also featuring slivers of celery, carrot, and onion, it’s a simple, slightly oily plate with an admirable smoky wok flavor that rendered it one of the better items I tried.

For reasons beyond my knowing, Pho Saigon has made the worrisome decision to also serve “New York-style Chinese cuisine.” What is ‘New York-style Chinese cuisine?’ Quite frankly, and despite having sampled three items, my best guess falls somewhere between ‘retro Americanized Chinese’ and ‘I have no idea.’

Despite the glowing praise heaped upon the General Tso’s Chicken ($10.95), in my experience, what was served to me is actually known as sweet and sour chicken. Made with pineapples, bell peppers, and a cloyingly sugary sauce, the poultry itself was quite dry, with a hard crust implying it may have been twice-fried.

Not what I was expecting and not very good, things only took a turn for the worse with the steamed dumplings ($5.95). A bit too doughy, the six crescent-shaped potstickers were filled with a bland ground pork mixture and served with a sesame oil-heavy soy dipping sauce. Maybe it was just an off night, but this did not put me in anything approaching an Empire State of mind.

The spicy curry chicken with onions ($8.95) may be the surest sign that it’s time to cut ties with this New York style concept, if not Chinese food altogether. Granted, it says “with onions,” but a more accurate name might be curried onions with chicken. Although there’s a mild curry flavor upfront and visible flakes of red pepper, the onion-dominated dish quickly tastes like nothing. Although there’s a scattering of Birds Eye-esque peas and carrots adding some visual interest, my notes define this as “really weak.”

When one considers the authentic Vietnamese offerings brought to the table by the charming, humble chef, there’s a lot to like about Pho Saigon. It’s hard not to want such an earnest business owner to succeed, and in that vein, I would recommend a hasty divorce from the Chinese part of the equation. Or if nothing else, stick with the banh xeo or a steaming bowl of pho the next time it rains, and avert your eyes from the right side of the menu.

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If you’ve been looking for an opportunity to loudly declare “That’s a-spicy meatball!” count on the four, large homemade meatballs ($14) to provide the stage. Tender and meaty, they’re peppered with fennel seed and possessed of the aforementioned fiery finish. Topped with a light dusting of cheese, they are served in a flavorful marinara that quickly proved impossible to access. Just as one cannot empty the ocean with a spoon, it’s really freaking hard to ladle marinara with a fork. Attempts to gain the attention of my server were exceedingly challenging, despite the moderate lunch crowd. This is also when the water torture began.

Apparently the HVAC system is rather leaky. And a lot dirty.

As my dining companion panicked and considered the large, wet stain on his work clothes, we continued to try to flag down some help, but the staff is often on their own planet. Chatting amongst themselves, sorting silverware and perhaps considering the meaning of life, they are visible in the corner, yet otherwise engaged. When we finally got our server’s attention, she quietly took in the dripping ceiling and murky pool of water on the booth before stating, “They all do that.”

Huh. I’d maybe get that checked out by an HVAC professional? In the meantime, I recommend The 450 further add to the unconventional vibe and hand out umbrellas at the door, or maybe provide a small stash of those cheap plastic ponchos in a bowl on each table as 4 ounces of brown water suddenly falling from the veritable sky is a surprise no one needs.

Meanwhile, the burrata and fig ($13) came highly recommended by the server, but was a little confusing in execution. A gargantuan amount of chopped figs are topped with fresh, undressed arugula, burrata, and shredded cheese. Three pieces of prosciutto adorn the sides, and it’s all accompanied by eight slices of sourdough bread in a ‘make your own sandwich’ fashion. I didn’t really understand the components, and there’s way too much of everything. Although I appreciate the unbridled generosity, a lower-priced, half-size portion with less of an undressed salad vibe would be more appealing.

The pizza requires no interpretations and comes in a plethora of options, including a New York-style crust in 14″ and 19″ variations. There are inventive offerings like the drunk pig ($19/$24), made with vodka sauce and fennel sausage, but as a purist, I opted for the DeMarco ($15/$19) topped with a savory house-made red sauce, parmesan, and “Brooklyn mozzarella,” then dusted with finely chopped fresh basil. Make no mistake, 19″ is no small pie, and The 450 makes the most of the real estate. The crust is thin, with a good chew and a nice amount of crisp char. This is about as pleasing as a simple cheese pizza gets.

The prosciutto and mushroom ($17) pie is one of the choices on the 450 Originals menu. Available only as a 14″ crust, it features the namesake items along with mozzarella and caramelized onions. Savory and a little sweet, it’s another pleasing pick. Although some of the creations threaten to gild the lily, if your tastes run to elaborate toppings it’s hard to imagine you could go too wrong with any pizza variation here.

Simply reading the words grilled cheese and tomato basil soup ($10) gets me in the feels, although in hindsight I should have studied the ingredients list a little more closely. The soup itself is homemade, with a vibrant orange color and strong basil flavor. Rich and herbal, it’s an upscale model of the version Mom probably used to reheat. The grilled cheese wasn’t what I was expecting. Made in a panini grill, the shredded fontina and smoked mozzarella weren’t fully melted. The bread is quite firm, yet oily, and the sundried tomato aioli is a touch too heavy on the oregano. It’s a very Italian take on the simple classic, but if you want cheese, starch, and tomato, I’d probably recommend just getting a pizza.

In contrast, the hot Italian ($12) hero is spot-on, with salami, capicola, and pepperoni on a soft seeded hoagie roll. Topped with provolone and thinly sliced lettuce and onion, the requisite heat comes from the hot cherry pepper relish. If you’re in the mood for a sub/grinder/hoagie/whatever your background dictates such a sandwich is called, this is everything you could want and more.

The accompanying kale salad was fresh and unique, but possessed of an extremely generous — arguably too generous — portion of slivered almonds and craisins. In a consistent ‘go big or go home’ theme, there were more almonds and craisins than kale. Although the salad itself was really quite nice, especially for a side dish, the imbalance of garnishes is puzzling.

The Chucktown beef ($11) sub is billed as a riff on Chicago-style Italian beef heroes. Assembled on a toasted, seeded hoagie roll, it’s filled with pot roast-esque shredded beef and topped with melted provolone, as well as fresh tomatoes and arugula. Considering the aforementioned proclivity toward whimsical excess, the net effect was surprisingly bland. Although the menu mentioned giardiniera (Italian-style pickled vegetables) and au jus, mine didn’t arrive with either, which may have accounted for the incongruence.

The pasta salad occupying the other side of the plate featured bowtie noodles, along with diced tomato and bell pepper bits, plus sliced green and black olives. Dressed right before serving, it’s less bland and soupy than the usual and a viable alternative to the kale salad.

With some energy injected into the front of the house and a timely visit from a qualified air conditioning service person, The 450 Pizza Joint feels like a shoo-in for success. With their approachable menu and strong pie game, it’s likely they will satiate Sullivan’s visitors’ and residents’ dough-based cravings for some time to come.

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The menu is safe and trend-focused, although for a hotel restaurant that is probably a smart move. Still, all your future twenty-teen clichés are here, including black truffle oil, quinoa and kale, not to mention pork belly and Brussels sprouts — the bad boy, the baby face, the class clown: You get the idea.

The crispy Brussels ($9) arrive deep-fried and in generous portion. Tossed with roasted red peppers and a sweet apple gastrique, this is exactly what you’d expect of the ubiquitous dish. It’s a vegetable rendered junk food, and why not? All the kids are doing it. Tasty and greasy, there are no surprises here.

The smoked pork belly ($13) is more of a culinary stretch. Slices of slightly crisp, bread and butter-style apple pickles offer a pleasing, sweet/sour contrast to the rich, fatty meat. The two chunks are perfectly rendered with a good sear on one side and plated on a celery root purée; a nice, cheffy touch. Apple slaw — basically traditional cole slaw with some thin apple slices — adds some fresh crunch. I would happily eat this again.

The black truffle popcorn ($6) seems to have been engineered to sell adult beverages. Holy salt lick, even when avoiding the thin shreds of grana padano cheese, it’s just too much. There’s probably truffle oil in there, whether it’s real or synthetic is impossible to tell at this salinity level.

Should you order it anyway, the easy-drinking cocktails will likely go down twice as fast. The summer white negroni ($10), smells like maraschino cherries on the nose, but has the bold, sharp finish of the raspberry aperol. Light and a little bitter, these pack an imperceptible alcohol punch. Well, imperceptible until you stumble up onto your feet.

The tribute to the Cosmo ($10) is made with blood orange liqueur and white cranberry juice, but more or less tastes like a lemon drop. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but it appears that without the red color, I simply cannot perceive cranberry. Go figure.

The smoked pimento cheese board ($13) provides a good showcase of creativity. Slices of charred bread accompany a cornucopia of spreads, such as a vinegary whole grain mustard and a rich, smoky tomato bacon jam. The smoked cheese in the decadent pimento spreads adds sophistication, while the addition of the outstanding pepper jelly combines into what I can only describe as an adult PB&J experience. That jelly should arguably be a controlled substance, as I found myself inventing excuses to smear it on everything.

There’s also a kaleidoscope of pickles: the bread and butter apples are back, along with some slightly spicy whole okra pods, and gherkin-like strips of cucumber. Throw in the pickled cauliflower florets, and I wouldn’t be too shocked if someone popped out from under the table with a random object fished from my purse shouting, “We can pickle that!”

Kale and quinoa — our tired, modern day answer to ’80s quiche and tiramisu — both show up in the warm kale salad ($12) along with chorizo, shredded carrots, and chili oil. Although the menu mentioned golden raisins, they didn’t make it to my plate, which is too bad. The dish is monotonously soft and mushy, yet dominated by vinegar and spice. Something sweet — and maybe a little crunch — wouldn’t hurt. The oil level is also a bit much, once again rendering a selection that is presumably healthy not all that healthy.

At lunch, the grilled skirt steak sandwich ($12) hits on many positive flavor notes, but is incredibly hard to eat. Served on a slightly-too-firm pretzel roll spread with chimichurri and horseradish aioli, the primary challenge involved biting through the skirt steak medallions. Shout out to your incisors: You’ll be ripping and tearing at this thing like a lion on a gazelle. The accompanying Togarashi fries were perfectly cooked, but way too salty. When you can visibly see the crystals of salt glistening on each thin potato sliver, you know you’re in for it.

The friendly waitress informed me that the chicken schnitzel and herb spaetzle ($19) is considered the star of the original Atlanta location’s menu. The large, panko-breaded breast is crisply fried and covered in a homey, caramelized onion gravy. Accompanied by a very eggy spaetzle and tossed with a sauerkraut-esque braised red cabbage, it’s both comforting and authentic. I’m not really sure what this menu is about, but maybe there should be a few other German/Austrian items on it?

On a similar note, maybe some more Italian influences too, as the shrimp and grits ($18 at lunch/$23 dinner) was the best thing I tried. Let’s level set: Where shrimp and grits are concerned, I am over it. Been there. Done that. Bought the Geechie Boy t-shirt. But this version is truly unique, with the creamy smoked pimento cheese grits emulating a risotto. Topped with a spicy red arrabbiata sauce and six plump shrimp coated in a briny crawfish butter, I didn’t see this one coming. But I’m glad it did.

Yes, 1Kept may be the Backstreet Boys of restaurants, but considering its hotel location and “aiming to please” menu, odds are you’ll want it that way.

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