Atmosphere: Slick and clean-lined, but it's impossible to ignore the fact that you're still in a hotel.

Crowd: I stopped by for lunch on a recent Sunday afternoon thinking that the place would be packed with curious Rittenhouse locals and hotel guests too scared to leave the premises and venture out onto the much-mythologized streets of Philadelphia. But it was actually rather empty. There were a few people there, sure, but not the bustling crowds I'd expected. The people who were there tended more toward the staid than the hip, which was actually a nice break from the neighborhood norm.

Service: Our waitress was earnest and friendly but, in fact, perhaps a bit too much (she referred to Ms. Martini as ma'am) and was overeager in her zeal to please. But she was friendly and competent, which is more than I can say for the host, a kid whose pants were hanging precariously low and whose range of facial expressions was limited to (1) a blank stare and (2) a vaguely annoyed stare. He kind of scared me a little bit.

What to Get: The lovash with three dips was decent, notwithstanding the nuclear-strength addition of garlic to the one the waitress had assured us was a fabulous goat cheese. And the sweet peppers were cloying, more dessert than appetizer. But the crisp lovash itself was nice, as was the pulled chicken club, a different take on the lunchtime favorite. Here it's served on cranberry sourdough with maple-cured smoked pork, avocado and a cranberry-orange mayonnaise.

What Not to Get: A dish called "Pressed - Spooned - Tossed," which was a great idea whose execution just fell short. A rectangle of grilled cheese whose filling had begun to separate, a relatively tasteless cup of smoked tomato soup and a salad whose flavor was defined by little more than its overwhelming sweetness.

Verdict: So-so. I hope it's just a matter of working out all those new-restaurant kinks in both the front and the back of the house.

220 S. 17th St., 215.790.1799, www.tavern17restaurant.com