icon Grill keeps its wit about it with 'aroused Americana'

In another century, Alexandre Dumas observed, "nothing succeeds like success," but in this day and age it often seems that nothing succeeds like excess. Take icon Grill — please — as Henny Youngman didn't say.

But that vintage comic would surely have appreciated the wisecracks posted on icon's movie-theater marquee and the restaurant's menu, which is punctuated by quips like this from Janet Flanner: "I'm fond of anything that comes out of the sea, and that includes sailors."

Icon Grill opened four years ago with its tongue in its cheek, and though it's weathered a change in ownership and a sputtering economy, it hasn't lost its wit. In the ladies restroom, a '50s-era instructional video cautions teenage girls about appearing "fast," even as the female bartender downstairs proves not only how far girls have come, but just how fast a girl can shake it when she wants to.

Very little seems to have changed at icon Grill. The décor, notable for its abundant use of blown glass and the color pink, still makes Rococo look like a minimalist design movement.

The kitchen, under the direction of executive chef Nick Musser, still turns out things like Velveeta-enriched macaroni and cheese ($10.50), meatloaf ($15) and pot pie ($9), a bill of fare described as "aroused Americana."

The meatloaf certainly will excite molasses lovers; inky, blackstrap gravy moistens a burly, bacon-wrapped loaf and rich, corn-flecked mashed potatoes.

Chicken pot pie engenders less enthusiasm, its pallid sauce in need of seasoning, its unyielding cornmeal pastry concealing what look and taste like frozen vegetables.

The casserole of baked elbow macaroni topped with buttered breadcrumbs and served with a small pitcher of extra molten cheese — two cheddars and an aged jack add sharpness to the Velveeta — is sure to appeal to your inner child.

These are perennials on a menu that changes seasonally. Not every dish recalls the Eisenhower era. Reduced balsamic vinegar adds zing to halibut baked in a thin potato shell ($15), paired with garlicky braised spinach and roasted new potatoes.

Wild mushrooms, arugula and roasted red pepper dress up goat-cheese-stuffed ravioli ($14), tender pasta bathed in an earthy, marsala-kissed broth. Saffron rice, roasted tomato salsa and guacamole accompany burrito-like fish tacos ($11). Though a bit soggy, the tomato tortilla wraps an appealing bundle of moist, grilled ling cod and crunchy vegetables.

"You never get a second chance to make a first impression" quotes the menu introducing appetizers. Certainly the basket of bread with its trio of flavored butters gets things off to a good start. As does the service, which is responsive and attentive whether the restaurant is slammed or slow.

But mostly, first courses falter. Luxuriate in a lusty bowl of butternut-squash soup ($5.50) riddled with sweet cashews and bits of tomato, or revel in the pungent mix of mushrooms, herbs, red-pepper sauce, mozzarella and fontina cheese covering the pita-like crust of a small pizza ($9).

But steer clear of tough baby artichokes ($9), baked in watery lemon butter and not at all redeemed by runny hollandaise. Chicken-fried calamari ($8), tender squid burdened by a buttermilk batter that quickly becomes gluey, is for fans of chicken-fried steak (also on the menu).

Red onion, jicama and cotija cheese enliven the house green salad ($5). In another salad, grilled pears get top billing, but that kicky mix of spiced pecans, wild greens and blue cheese in pomegranate vinaigrette ($6.50) has no need of those cold, clammy slices of pear.

"Lead us not into temptation," said Sam Levenson, "just tell us where it is and we'll find it." There are two quick routes to perdition on icon's dessert menu. The enormous hot-fudge sundae ($8) sails to the table like a fairy-tale coach: a cookie sphere shelters three scoops of Olympic Mountain vanilla; a cookie cone brimming with hot fudge serves as footman. Playing fairy godmother, your server dispenses toppings as you wish from a caddy loaded with butter pecans, chocolate-chip cookie crumbles, M&M's and whipped cream.

But I committed all seven deadly sins over the pumpkin pecan cheesecake ($7), a seasonal dessert that comes off the menu with the New Year, so hurry if you want some.

Gluttony moved me to devour every last crumb, from the ginger-snap bottom to the carmelized pecan top. I lusted for more of this ethereal dessert — not quite cheesecake, not quite pumpkin pie. I coveted it for my Thanksgiving dinner and pride convinced me that I could re-create it. The restaurant willingly supplied the recipe (which I requested under an assumed name, so add lying to my sins). Sloth led me to start the project late. Anger ensued when the batter wouldn't properly fluff and then stubbornly refused to set. Finally, there was only envy for the skills of Doug Lewis, a pastry chef far more talented than I.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com.