know the name Bobo makes you think of Mr. Burns’s childhood teddy bear and Fijian rugby players but put those out of your mind. This one is short for “Bourgeois bohemian,” a term for post-yuppies. Stand at the corner of West 10th Street and 7th Avenue South in front of a door marked 181 and you still won’t know where Bobo is. Only after descending the stairs and catching a glimpse of a menu did I know that I was in the right place.

Bobo is a gorgeous space with low, beamed ceilings and exposed brick on all sides. It’s easy to forget that you’re in the middle of a trendy, tourist-ed part of town as outside noise melts away and streetlights give way to taper candles on every table. After the bartender explained the difference between the Perfect Manhattan and the Sweet Manhattan - as though Vermouth was his first language - we expected a very special meal.

Our first course was the tarte flambée, a regional specialty of Alsace in eastern France that resembles a thin-crust pizza, made with bacon, onion, and crème fraîche. I was thrilled to see this on the menu: it's the stuff of my Strasbourg dreams. Sadly, I was disappointed to find that the crème fraîche was next to imperceptible, and noticed that the crust was more puffed-up than it ought to have been. The gemelli pasta with poached egg, asparagus, and truffle oil lacked flavor—specifically truffle oil—and was something of a miss as well.

Next up for me was homemade almond pappardelle with roasted porcini mushrooms, speck (seasoned and smoked pork), and parmesan cheese. The innovative almond flour more than excused the slightly unusual taste and texture. The mushrooms were in large pieces, particularly compared to the tiny shreds of speck - specks, really - so I mistook the porcini for meat, then fat, before realizing what I was eating. Frustratingly, the more I ate, the less appetizing the ensemble became. Our other main, the Chicken Grand-Mere with red wine, mushroom, bacon, and mashed potatoes, conjured visions of coq au vin gone slightly awry. It was the sort of comfort food appositely expected from a grandmother, though the grandmothers I know do a better job seasoning. We decided to skip dessert.