Bluehour has the Pearl-trendy thing down, for sure. It’s the sort of place we love to hate: high drama and pretense without much distinguishing character. An otherwise warehouse-sized white room is sectioned off by long dark green curtains and there are interesting visual textures here and there, but little else. Don’t look to the staff for entertainment or enlightenment—they’re polite, but not as food-nerdy or engaged as some more kick-ass servers in town. There’s an open kitchen in the back, through which we once saw a whole pig, but the crowd here seems too “Mirror in the Bathroom” to actually notice or care.

That kitchen is absolutely competent at Modern American cuisine, but the food here lacks the excitement that would come from a truly seasonal or an original chef-driven menu. A burger is certainly one of the better in town, but you aren’t asked you how you want it cooked—strange for an upscale bistro burger. It does come a tender, unobjectionable medium, with the nice addition of pickled vegetables. Gnocchi with black truffle and fontina cheese is absolutely spot on, with tender and dreamy puffs of potato dough that aren’t overwhelmed by the truffle. A crab sandwich, although full of real crabmeat, is a bit disappointing. Especially for the price.

Most un-Portland of all is the way-overpriced beer list. The mark up on local craft beers, as compared to other places in town, is downright brazen. Again, this crowd doesn’t much seem to mind. Wines are also annoyingly arranged on the list according to varietal, which is totally incomprehensible. Nevermind that the selection is kind of an (overpriced) afterthought.

Brunch has some attractive options, but again, it’s more expensive than anything else around. And for no reason; there’s some great execution here, but no soul in this food. It could be a restaurant anywhere. Wake us when it’s over.