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Raoul's Velvet Room brings to mind the story of the blind men and the elephant. In that old Indian parable, each man touches a different part of the enormous animal and insists it resembles everything from a snake to a tree to a fan.

Similarly at Raoul's only here the complete nature of the beast is revealed not by 20/20 vision, but by a ticking clock. At 7 p.m. the place is empty. There's a tape of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin playing, and you can settle in quietly to a cozy corner to wonder where the members of this "supper club" are. Show up at 9 p.m. and the place has livened up dramatically. The Chairman has retired to make way for some aurally less demanding jazz, and the idea of dinner wanes as waitresses bustling 20 varieties of martinis pick up speed. Stay until midnight and there's yet another transformation (at least on Friday). The band's raucous repertoire has thrust the dressed-up college kids into an energetic bump-and-grind, the bar is shoving room only and there's no thru traffic in the bathroom.

Jeff Singer, operating partner of Raoul's Velvet Lounge, serves up "Surf and Turf," a combination of grilled filet mignon topped with fresh shrimp.

It's an enticing notion to go eat in style at this self-described "classic cocktail lounge with a twist," and you can. Just get out by 10 p.m. if you want peace, or by 9 p.m. if you really want peace and don't want to listen to the band say "Check, check" for an hour.

Pulling double duty

Located in the former site of Dos Hombres, the Velvet Room is a multi-leveled hive of discreet but connected spaces, synthesized by decor that successfully mixes brick arches, black lacquered tables, tiled floors, overstuffed chairs, modern art, decorative wall painting, a pool table and a band platform that levitates midway between upstairs and down.

With a contemporary dinner menu to entice the early-evening crowd and a full complement of drinks with emphasis on the martinis to keep them, Raoul's is trying to double-dip its customers and it's working. An unobtrusive wait staff delivers food that's good but not outstanding; the real draw of Raoul's is not the menu but rather the fun of going to a classy club, sitting in a crushed velvet chair and drinking out of those quirky glasses.

We skipped the Dean Martini for a more exotic "Razberi Cosmo," then solidified our appetizer with an order of bruschetta consisting of crispy bread rounds and a garlicky tomato relish (served on the side). The tomato-blue cheese salad could have built nicely on this beginning; unfortunately the tomatoes weren't ripe, and the scanty lettuce was buried under an army of strong red onion rings guaranteed to discourage exchanging glances with strangers.

From the selection of "Gourmet Pizzas," I chose the veggie version, which was laden with vegetables and mozzarella. The red sauce, however, was overly sugared, and the result was much too sweet. After two pieces I abandoned it to munch on my companion's meal, a shrimp pasta in white wine sauce with mushrooms and tomatoes. This was better: the shrimp were large and firm, the linguine perfectly al dente. Still, it seemed lacking something. Salt? That helped, but ultimately I hit upon the real answer: a better recipe. Though this dish was well-cooked, it wasn't well-thought out. Anchor this one in a more definitive style, so it doesn't drift forgettably along.

Attention to detail

I don't think the kitchen staff is winging it, but other entrees arrived in different manifestations than their menu copy. The smothered chicken with red wine gravy and saut mushrooms, for example, was further smothered in an unadvertised blanket of cheese, and the yellowfin tuna, purported to be served with black beans and rice, arrived with no black beans that I could find.

Despite not getting exactly what we expected, the entrees were basically tasty and well-prepared, and the vegetables from asparagus to mashed potatoes received as much attention as the main course, ensuring they wouldn't be pushed aside.

The tuna itself was a thick slice cooked perfectly to that fleeting point right after "thoroughly" but before "dry." The background rice, however, was the thick and pasty sort you might find in a box of Uncle Ben's brown; a more delicate grain would have been a better match. And though mango salsa was a lively accompaniment, the small spoonful barely served as a plate decoration, much less a working condiment.

The chicken was characterized by straightforward but unassertive seasoning; undoubtedly it suits a wide range of tastes, but I would have preferred a less chicken-hearted wine sauce. Happily, the generous topping of mushrooms made up for a lot.

Dessert choices are limited to three: two chocolate creations and a cheesecake. "Chocolate Beyond Reason" was a dense and delicious layering of chocolate mousse and cake. Unfortunately, it was too cold to let the full flavor come out. Another choice is to simply go with the Chocolate Martini, which, in my opinion, performs much better in execution than it does in concept.

Whoever's cooking at the Velvet Room is clearly competent, performing all the required moves and sticking the landings. What the food lacks is the careful crafting that makes a dish seem remarkable rather than just routine. With a little more attention to detail, the Velvet Room could raise its food artistry score and become a full-fledged luxurious outing at least before nine o'clock.

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