Restaurant Review RomaCafe. By George Benington.

RESTAURANT REVIEW

W

hen I moved to Portland in 1982, the Roma Cafe seemed to be considered by the eating public as a fairly good restaurant, a place where one might celebrate a special occasion or woo a date. I must admit that, regardless of the praise, I never went. The Vinyard, before it changed hands and lost its fine chefs, was my choice for a night of superior dining. The Roma, too, changed hands in 1984.

So, it was with some fairly high expectations that my party and I headed for the Roma last week. I must risk a notyet -established reputation with some readers and say that I was not a little disappointed. Granted this was a first impression-my fault for not having gone in four years-but Iwas anticipating a fine meal and did not find it.

The paragraph on the back of the menu points out that the Roma is an ideal place for business diners. This was apparently the case the night we went, as every man, as well as several women, was in grey or blue pinstripe. (I am tempted here to point out that the color of the walls and curtains could probably be changed to complement the dining attire. The apricot clashes horribly.) We, in our peculiar but still fringe yuppie fashion of Joseph's and St. Joe's, stood out like sore thumbs. Even

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the waitresses, in white shirts and black skirts, reminded one of a hotel dining room gone awry.

But this is not a fashion column. Let's talk about food. The first impulse I had on entering the Roma was to eat garlic bread: The smell of it is everywhere, and they bring on heaping plates. From the moment we were seated the service was excellent. Our waitress was congenial and attentive and never far away.

Reading the list of appetizers was a bit like listening to an old, familiar song. I'm not sure if this is a criticism or <a compliment. Perhaps when the people of this world go out for a nice meal they like to know what they can expect.

BY GEORGE BENINGTON