Remember the rash of movies two or three years ago where everybody was switching bodies with everyone else? Fathers with sons? Women with men? Judge Reinhold with Fred Savage?

As far as I know, body switching exists only in the minds of desperate screenwriters. Too bad. If it were a reality, and restaurants were eligible for the process, I would recommend Giovanni Restaurant and Ristorante Gigi on Camelback, two of Phoenix's newer Italian venues, as prime candidates.

In their present incarnations, Giovanni and Gigi are two moderate-to-expensive Italian restaurants with obvious weaknesses. I prefer the food at the former, the service and atmosphere at the latter. After a body switch--or, if you will, "building switch"--we'd have something infinitely better: one good Italian restaurant, and one that could be eliminated entirely. After all, how many imperfect, not-cheap, semifancy Italian restaurants does Phoenix need?

Fewer, I say. Located at 40th Street and Indian School, Giovanni Restaurant continues to strive for the upscale audience that former occupant Alexilion sought. Its decor strikes a balance between modern and formal. A glass partition separates the large, open dining room from the bar. Stylized art deco prints are positioned on the walls. White linen and a single real red rose top each table. A room full of living, breathing bodies would help alleviate the cool feel of the restaurant, but on the evening a dining accomplice and I visit, attendance is sparse.

Two things help to warm the atmosphere. First, owner and manager Giovanni Messina is a gracious and attentive host. Locally, he has worked as maitre d' of Tomaso's, and before that, at Orangerie. During our meal, he materializes tableside whenever food is delivered or dishes removed. "Mama mia," the man in the European-cut suit frequently exclaims. "Just like Mama makes it back in Sicily." When plates are taken from us conspicuously empty, he jokes, "What was wrong with it?" Messina succeeds in his role because he knows when to be on hand without making diners claustrophobic.

Second, the restaurant's choice of music also helps take away some of the chill. The soundtrack, on the night we visit, offers a variety of singers performing familiar vocal standards. Among those artists we can identify with certainty: Carly Simon, George Benson, Doris Day, and yes, that humble Hoboken paesan, Frank Sinatra. The music soothes and entertains us while we endure waits between courses.

Because, sadly, service is an issue at Giovanni Restaurant. It starts off well enough, but by the end of the meal, the level and quality have deteriorated. Our waiter is only partially at fault. The large room is staffed by two waiters and a busboy. Parties appear to be assigned alternately in order of arrival. Unfortunately, the other waiter's tables finish relatively quickly, while our waiter's linger on, through dessert and coffee. In the end, the numbers defeat him: He simply can't give the type of attention he should to each party when he is working tables all over the dining room.

And so we all suffer.
Which is a shame, because Giovanni's food is good--very good, in fact. After we gobble some complimentary bruschetta, our appetites are further whetted by a lovely mixed antipasto. The cold plate features a generous assortment of meats, such as salami, prosciutto and mortadella; cheeses, like fontina, buffalo mozzarella and provolone; and piquant vegetables, ranging from roasted peppers and sun-dried tomatoes to artichoke hearts and tart black olives. I like it very much.

After a small wait, our waiter brings our second course, a split portion of cappelini pomodoro--angel-hair pasta with tomatoes and basil. As regular readers of this column may recognize, this is one of my favorite dishes. Giovanni does a good job with it. The pasta is tooth-tender, the fresh tomato-basil mixture bold with the flavor of garlic. My accomplice and I practically lick our plates clean.

Again a small wait ensues before our soup and salad are brought. "I'm sorry," says our waiter. "Not too many people order four courses." No? Well, they should. To order just pasta or just an entree here is to miss part of the whole picture. Of course, in Italy, soup would be eaten first, and salad--if part of the meal at all--would be eaten last. But that's okay. As my seventh-grade home economics teacher said, as she reprimanded me for holding my utensils European-style: "We're in America now."

So, as an American, I have to say I like both the soup and salad served to us as our third course. Giovanni's pasta e fagioli soup is fantastic: not salty, but rich with white beans, spiral-shaped macaroni and fresh tomato. A salad of radicchio, romaine, tomato and Bermuda onion is also pleasant, though I'm initially surprised that all the ingredients are chopped.

Our waiter comes to speak to us during our next downtime. Referring to one of our entrees, he says, "The zuppa takes a little longer. We try to make it as fresh as possible."

The wait is worth it. Zuppa di pesce Siciliana is a mouthwatering combination of shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels, calamari and halibut in a sauce redolent with tomato, garlic, parsley and onion. Served in a white ceramic crock, it is far too big to consume in one sitting--especially after what I've already eaten--but the seafood is fresh and cooked to perfection. Thick slices of yellow polenta, made of coarse cornmeal, are a tasty accompaniment.

Equally well-prepared is the chicken saltimbocca ala Romano. Three fillets of chicken, pounded thin, sit open-faced atop prosciutto and sage. Topped with melted mozzarella and bathed in a red wine sauce, this is chicken which, true to its name, wants to "jump in your mouth."

As happens so many times, it is at this stage of the meal that our waiter's performance falls off. What might be the shortest part of dinner threatens to stretch into oblivion. We must wait at every juncture: for plates to be cleared, for food to be wrapped, for dessert, for the check. You know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you've experienced it. Our waiter simply doesn't perceive our desire to, well, leave.

Needless to say, this colors my perception of dining at Giovanni. Dessert is a split decision. I like the creamy, brandy-and-espresso-flavored tiramisu, but not the fancy white refrigerator cake with maple frosting.

As is so often the case, there's a discrepancy between what Giovanni Restaurant wants to be and what it is. Though the food is good, for the total experience, prices are on the high side. To put it another way, the waitstaff wears short white serving jackets, but many customers are clad in sweaters and jeans.

Giovanni would do well to reassess its niche in the marketplace. Affecting a more casual atmosphere, lowering prices and improving service could mean the difference between survival as a nicer neighborhood restaurant, or continuing obscurity as one of the legion of fancy-Italian wannabes in the Valley.

Yep, if a building switch were possible, I'd like to combine the food of Giovanni with the service and physical structure of Ristorante Gigi on Camelback. While the decor clearly emulates the stained-glass-wall-clock-and-musical-instrument motif of Pronto Ristorante, I like the restaurant's winding layout and cozy feel.

Compared to the cool gray tones of Giovanni Restaurant, Ristorante Gigi glows warmly. Candles and fire from the kitchen's wood-burning oven cast a flattering, and therefore, romantic light over the restaurant. This may explain why so many couples on dates--including, in the words of my accomplice, "lots of old geezers with young babes"--are patronizing Gigi this night.

We are dining early. Service is attentive and responsive, even as business picks up later in the evening. We are never left to wonder when our waiter will return, nor are we told, "It'll be a few minutes" when we request something of him. After my experience at Giovanni, this is a relief.

The menu at Gigi was abbreviated three or four months ago. The primary change appears to have been a weeding out of the fish, meat and poultry entrees. A good selection of appetizers and pasta is still offered.

Sadly, much of what we sample is a letdown. An exciting-sounding salad of radicchio, watercress and endive is faulted by blah mozzarella and tiny roasted green peppers like those from a can. Spagettini ala puttanesca is provocative, but overwhelmed by too much tomato-garlic-olive-caper sauce. It simply doesn't look appealing. Scampi with tomatoes, garlic and capers features dried-out butterfly shrimp which must be removed from the shell. By the end of the meal, I feel like a surgeon. Facing the five unshelled shrimp, my main concern is: How do I get them out without getting splattered with red stuff? Frankly, I don't want to do this much work at dinner.

And so it goes.
On the positive side of the ledger, I like the appetizer of hefty mozzarella balls wrapped in prosciutto--though for $5.95, I anticipated more than three. I also favor the grilled boneless breast of chicken, which tastes of lemon, rosemary and wood smoke. The rosemary-flavored grilled vegetables, which accompany the chicken, are delectable as well.

Dessert is worth a try at Gigi. The hazelnut-chocolate gelato tastes like Italy and evokes fond memories of there. I also like what our waiter calls a strawberry baba: fresh strawberries and custard creme in a powdered sugar-coated pastry shell, though my accomplice complains that it tastes "like a doughnut."

Ristorante Gigi on Camelback will continue to enjoy a steady stream of customers, thanks to its location, ambiance and moderate prices. Meanwhile, Giovanni is likely to struggle along, playing night after night to an empty house. That these two restaurants could learn from each other's strengths and weaknesses is all too obvious a conclusion. Yet there you have it.

Giovanni Restaurant, 4017 East Indian School, Phoenix, 224-9009. Hours: Lunch, 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., Monday through Friday; Dinner, 5 to 11 p.m., Monday through Saturday; closed Sunday.

Ristorante Gigi, 4225 East Camelback, Phoenix, 952-9797. Hours: Lunch, 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m., Tuesday through Friday; Dinner, 5 to 10 p.m., Tuesday through Sunday; closed Monday.


How many imperfect, not-cheap, semifancy Italian restaurants does Phoenix need? Fewer, I say.


When plates are taken from us conspicuously empty, he jokes, "What was wrong with it?" gigi

Couples on dates--including, in the words of my accomplice, "lots of old geezers with young babes"--are patronizing Gigi this night.


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