After intense scrutiny and passionate culinary research, I have discovered that Osteria, which appears, from its menu semantic, to be an Italian restaurant, is, indeed, an Italian restaurant. Despite the obvious gringoness of its waiters, Osteria serves up a cuisine reminiscent of those Italians have enjoyed for many decades, minus the fascist ingredients. The bread, I must say, was out of this world. I ordered a minestrone soup and a fettuccini al pesto that were both outstanding, while my Viagra riddled co-critic James Wolf ordered mozzarella di bufala e pomodori (Buffalo testicles with a hint of garlic) and a lemon chicken. Not wanting to rain on his parade, I kindly refused to share his meal, which he said was mouth watering. Yum. The atmosphere of Osteria was similar to that of a traditional Italian trattoria, except in English. And as I alluded to before, the closest those waiters got to Italy, was when they stopped to take a piss at a Pizza Hut. The lighting consisted of dimmed wall mounted shaded lights that were actually quite pleasant - if you're blind. Sitting in that place too long could drive even a Quaker to go on a shooting spree at a neighborhood kindergarten. Additionally, the restaurant was flooded nearly exclusively with middle-aged Baby Boomers and their families. Enough said. That aside, however, the service was excellent. Our food came promptly, and they brought us exactly what we had ordered, just like they do at Miyake, for those of you familiar with that fine establishment. The reason the food came so quickly is probably directly related to the fact there were more people in Osteria that Saturday night than there are in an Alabama stockyard on Valentine's Day. The tables simply needed to be turned over, and fast. Unfortunately, the only intoxicating grape related product that our student budget (and my driving record) could afford was a single glass of the house red, a Chianti Classico, for each of us. Surprisingly, the wine was quite lovely. In fact, it had fruity depth, with a toasty hollow structure, and a ponderous full-bodied attitude. It was definitely more robust and herbal than your average malt liquor. To top it off, your food gurus devoured a tasty dolci cappuccino cake with vanilla ice cream that literally melted in our mouths (that's what ice cream does, folks). On the infamous Leichter-Maroko scale of 69 (69 being Iron Chef style, 0 being The Treehouse, and 68 being "you do me and I'll owe you one"), I give Osteria a 53.62.