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The Cipriani clan"s ninth NYC outpost is as glamorous as the others--a man in a top hat greets you at the door, and the genteel dining room is lined with leatherbound books--but the uneven fare fails to impress. Lovely appetizers (a mound of gorgeously marbled speck{/I}, a pristine swordfish carpaccio) gave way to middling entrées, like a mushy, poorly seasoned spaghetti all"amatriciana{/I}. An impressive hunk of layer cake topped with pillowy vanilla meringue was almost redemptive, but for our money, we"d have preferred the falafel cart two blocks away.

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