Though many parents might reach their boiling point when their toddler defiantly flings spaghetti and the accompanying red tomato sauce on Mom or Dad’s crisp white shirt, an act that could only be described as saucy, the youngster’s accompanying look of initial shock and horror that’s followed up with the requisite devilish grin (divulging their true intentions) is pure comedic gold (provided the stains are removable) and thus the actions are forgivable.

The owners of Saucy are hoping you take light of the assorted sauce and pasta mix and match concept and find the humor of playing along (a bit easier than Concentration). Fortunately, this is not your father’s restaurant but rather it is your six-year-old nephew’s restaurant. Why else would the menu be covered in plastic, but to protect it against spilled juice and/or flying sauce? On the backside, beneath the plastic, is a cautionary image of a burlap surface with a splotch of sauce on it. You see? Saucy is telling us this is what happens when you don’t cover your menus in plastic. Parents – perhaps plastic “infant feeding capes” are the necessary solution to feeding your young ones unsauced?

In terms of atmosphere, the restaurant is almost unbearably hot; apparently underage restaurateurs are most comfortable in womblike conditions. Junior also must have picked out the decorations, suspending burlap sacks full of “spices” from the ceiling in a Plexiglas case. He did a nice job for a first-grader, to be sure, but what were supposed to look like heaping quantities of the various herbs and powders (which spice is Crayola’s Orchid-colored crayon again?) were clearly thin layers glued onto dome shapes inside the sacks.

It is a fact of American culture that the playground set is sadly lacking on the viticultural front. When we asked for the wine list, our waiter told us they were “still working on it,” but on our request, listed several types of red wine available by the glass. We ordered a glass of Pinot Noir, and he returned shortly after to tell us that not only were they out of the promised Pinot, but he “couldn’t find the bartender.” He produced two bottles of red from which to taste, and said they were a Merlot and a Spanish wine. I asked him what kind of Spanish wine it was, and he examined the label and proudly offered that it was a “vino tinto,” blissfully unaware that, in translation, means "red wine" (with bottom of the barrel grapes at that). We ordered the Merlot.

I started my meal with the lobster cake with mixed grilled mushrooms. The mushrooms must have been hiding out with the bartender, because I never found them on my plate. My first bite contained lobster shell, and while I appreciate the chef’s looking after my calcium intake, I would have settled for some mushrooms. The lobster was chewy, and the tomatoey broth in which it sat was decent, but not enough so to redeem the rest of the dish. Tragically, the Caesar salad was underdressed (how embarrassing!) and, frankly, boring.