By Paul Reidinger

AN OLD ADAGE – all adages seem to be old – teaches that we learn not from our successes but our failures. Failure is instructive; it illuminates. Lately the illumination has been more than usually dazzling in restaurantland, but then, these are harder times than usual. And in hard times fraught with uncertainty, people salve their unease by turning to the familiar and the known.

In the past 18 months or so, I have noticed that locations of continual restaurant failure often end up as low-overhead Asian restaurants, or as some species of trattoria, America having made Italian cooking its own. An example of the latter point is Spiazzino, which opened recently in the space long occupied by Val 21 – one of the first and best of the Mission District's new wave of restaurants in the 1990s – then, in rapid succession, by Provençal and creole endeavors (3Ring, Le Krewe) that just didn't catch on.

Val 21 was, of course, a tough act to follow. Along with Flying Saucer a few blocks away, it brought innovative California cooking to a once-forsaken neighborhood as the 1990s opened. And, like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, it went out on top, ending its eight-year run in 1998 not because the loyal crowds had thinned but because the owner needed more time for himself and his family.

For more than a few of us, apparently, that oddly shaped dining room, with its big mezzaluna bar, will always be Val 21. Giuseppe Vivacqua (who's also a principal in Spiazzo Café in West Portal) seems to have quietly reached the same conclusion, for Spiazzo's recently launched sibling, Spiazzino, is not really an attempt to capitalize on or otherwise play off of the past. The new restaurant, while retaining the polished blond wood and layout of earlier incarnations (the bar still stands commandingly just inside the front door), is a much more low-key affair, with a moderately priced menu of Italian standards that fit one's expectations like a pair of soft old slippers.

Standards, at their best, remind us why they became standards in the first place. Spiazzino's zuppa di pesce ($11.95), for instance, sounds routine – a usual-suspects variety of shellfish, calamari, and fish in a tomato broth, ladled over spaghetti – but turns out not to be, because the broth is thick and slightly smoky, as if the tomatoes had been roasted beforehand. That is a good step to take with out-of-season tomatoes; it certainly would have benefited the diced specimen that wound up as a pale topping for bruschetta (part of an antipasto misto platter, $7.95). Much better was the topping (on the other slice of bread) of chopped, sautéed mushrooms, which brought a hint of richness and warmth to what was otherwise a rather wintry assortment of (cold) artichoke hearts, thumbnail-size white beans, slices of prosciutto, julienne of bell pepper, and black olives.

Two lessons here: first, choose mushrooms in winter and forget about tomatoes until summer; and second, grilling enhances. A grilled mushroom, therefore, would be ideal in late winter, and we found it (a halved portobello cap, $6.95) to be so, simply arranged on a bed of raw spinach, which absorbed the steaklike jus as if it were a vinaigrette. The quarters of unripe tomato on the side merely reminded us that an unripe tomato is a sad spectacle indeed.

Grilled petrale sole ($15.95) is of course a local glory, handled here with a light touch: a squeeze of lemon, a bit of butter, a side of braised red chard, and (in perhaps a less light touch) a sizable blob of mashed potatoes. I enjoy mashed potatoes, but, like sausage, they are stuffed with hidden fat, and they make a not quite satisfactory accompaniment to white-fleshed fish. You find yourself staring at shades of pale; you are trying to find a little white house in a blizzard. Why not some chickpeas, or beluga lentils, for color, texture, contrast, not to mention nutritive value?

Our jury of two hung on the pizza montanara ($8.95). We liked the topping – of tomato, sun-dried tomato, black olives, oregano, feta, mozzarella, and peppery, nutty arugula – but divided on the spongy crust. Some people like a spongy, bready crust; I am not one of them. But I did like the cannelloni bolognese ($7.95), two hefty pasta tubes stuffed with well-seasoned ground veal in a rich tomato sauce. And – more surprising – I liked the tiramisu ($5.50), which was firm and shapely, with a good balance of sugar, coffee, and rum. (So often they end up soggy with the booze.)

You step out of Spiazzino aware of the fact that you are not stepping out of the Last Supper Club, two blocks up Valencia Street. For one thing, the food, while good, doesn't compare. On the other hand, neither does the congestion, which at TLSC is of Val 21-ish proportions – or, if you speak vernacular, a hassle. Spiazzino is hassle free, and that's as much a comfort as any comfort food.