East of Eden

In an effort to be daring, Roberto had ordered that night's special, a faux-Reuben sandwich made with strips of portabella mushroom, caramelized onion and tomato in a curl of pita bread. I thought it tasted darned close to the real thing, but Roberto cracked that the hefty sandwich was more Rubenesque than Reuben.

Lou Jane, sadly, got the Grateful Dud of the night. The vegan-friendly spinach and mushroom loaf -- a concoction of bread crumbs, spinach, mushrooms, rice, onions, tofu, garlic and herbs -- sounded great, but Lou's loaf was clearly a reheated leftover; it was as dry as a sponge, and the bottom was blackened with scorch marks. I took a taste and found it to be an interesting culinary experiment. "I'll bet it's good when it's fresh," she said brightly.

And I did taste a fresher, much better version of the loaf a couple of days later when I returned for lunch with Carol and Denise. It was part of a tapas platter that also included the colorful Betty Bailey Berry Salad, loaded with tart apples, vibrantly red beets, mandarin oranges, dried cranberries, red onions and feta cheese. But even as she raved about the creamy taziki sauce, the lovely baba ghanouj, the divine chocolate cake layered with cream and mandarin oranges, Carol complained that the interior of the restaurant was depressing.

At sixtysomething, Carol can vaguely remember the old Unity Inn's fabled interior. Before it was gutted in the 1960s, it was extremely beautiful, with latticed walls, arched windows, a complete soda fountain and an ornate marble drinking fountain that's now reportedly being used as a flower planter somewhere on the city's east side. Eden Alley's décor is obviously more minimalist, in part because it shares space not just with the church but also with a bookstore. "They've actually done a very creative job with what they have to work with," said Denise, a feng shui expert. "It's a very comfortable and soothing space."

Maybe I'd been too hard on the place. Returning the next night for another dinner, I tallied up all the things I liked about Eden Alley. There was the accessible parking in one of the covered Plaza garages. And there were the servers, who were so unflappably cheery that I could have asked them to bring me hummus and go change the oil in my Dodge and they would have giggled, then run out to do it.

The place wasn't very busy that night, but a gorgeous young couple sat at one table. Seated nearby was the bearded man with the Birkenstocks and black socks. Bob ordered the egg-salad bruschetta, which was the most colorful sandwich I'd ever seen -- sunny-yellow egg salad heaped on grilled sourdough and layered with green pickles, bright-red tomato slices and purple onion. There's a cheddar, blue cheese and apple version of the bruschetta, too, which I should have ordered instead of that less-than-intoxicating vodka penne.

And when our angelic-faced server brought out the dessert tray, which included a chocolate-and-peanut-butter bread pudding, a lemony poppy-seed cake and a superb layer cake dubbed the "Mighty Mocha," I was hopelessly tempted to do something very, very naughty in Eden.