Bar Rosso sounds like just what the condo-dense Aventura neighborhood behind Loehmann's needs: A wine-savvy place to meet friends for a bite and a sip. But the warehouse-sized space that was once Ivy's seems cold and empty, the staff untrained and the food simply not up to the task.

The design is an appealing mix of rustic and elegant with its well-worn wooden floors, scarlet booths and shimmery mosaics, all illuminated by twinkly glass chandeliers, but there is no real spark or charm.

One of the best -- and cheapest -- ways to experience the place is at the long gray and white marble bar during the 5-9 weeknight happy hour when a selection of appetizers is half-price. Though not all the plates are perfect, they are at least fresh and hot, including tender, flavorful fried calamari threads, tasty but dry meatball Parmigianno sliders on toasted buns a size too big and truly lovely golden arancini (fried risotto balls) unfortunately served over inedibly salty red sauce. Don't bother with tiny pizzas that are flat in taste as well as form.

The rest of the menu sounds enticing with a range of regional Italian dishes, but nothing measures up. Of the more than dozen dishes we sampled on two visits, only a nice pair of shrimp scampi with a healthy dose of garlic over a lovely white bean ragout was something I'd return for. The so-called calamari linguine -- sautéed strings of squid with a few specks of zucchini -- had a weirdly fake, smoky flavor that was so off-putting we took only a few bites.

Salads were equally odd. Beet rounds that looked as if they had been cut with a jagged rock were the foundation for a tower of arugula cemented in place with a gluey goat cheese dressing and garnished with pistachio dust and odd yellow cubes we thought might be canned pineapple.

A tawdry plank of rainbow trout had all the charm of a wet handshake, and a slab of rib-eye as thin as the final issue of Gourmet magazine was piled with scorched red onions and flavorless fried polenta bricks.

I supposed I should be used to it by now, but Alfredo sauce masquerading as my favorite carbonara still drives me nuts. Bar Rosso's version of what should be a simple, creamless classic was more like mac and cheese, with no discernible egg yolk, no char on the pork and not a speck of parsley.

Even dessert was tough to love. Though I have seldom met a doughnut I didn't like, my husband and I could only manage a few nibbles of the bomb-like balls of dense, fried dough here. The dipping sauces -- broken chocolate and gooey grape -- were no help.

Most dismaying was the fact that no one -- not a waiter, a manager, a bartender or a busser -- seemed to notice or care that we were barely eating most of our food.

As big as it is, the wine list is as unfocused as the staff. There are dozens of Italian wines divided by region and color and then a group from the U.S. West Coast, Chile, Argentina and the South Pacific. But not a single French pinot at a place that calls itself a wine bar? The reds we tried were badly stored and poured, and rosé was represented by a single selection from Provence marked up three times retail.

For all that, the idea behind Bar Rosso remains a good one, and the folks there seemed nice enough. Perhaps with major retooling it could still be just what the neighborhood needs.

Victoria Pesce Elliott reviews Miami-Dade restaurants. E-mail velliott@MiamiHerald.com.

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