We honestly don’t like to come down hard on family-run restaurants, especially ones with photos of Old-World grandparents prominently featured—not that we’re worried about malocchio, mind you. But this is the restaurant, among many run by members of the family, that has, well, airs—among them the mural of Italian rogues that dominates the upstairs balcony. If you’ve got airs, and prices to match, well, just saying…

Airs are apparent in the sauces that come with an appetizer of fried ravioli. Ricotta-filled… [More]

Jones’ address is east of St. Philip’s College in a kind of no-man’s land. The building is a somewhat disquieting shade of dried-blood red, and, in a departure from the norm, there’s no outside dining. No order window, either; you must penetrate the interior, and at first it’s almost akin to stepping across the threshold of a dive geared more to beer and broads than barbecue and sweet tea. The inside, too, is dark red.

But shades of CSI quickly fade… [More]