It’s always seemed to me that the success of a gastropub is inversely proportional to the level of experimentation in the kitchen. That’s not to say that I want only well-executed pub-grub basics when I eat at places of this ilk—not at all. But I also don’t want flights of such culinary fancy that the food ceases to make sense.

Taken as a whole, the menu at St. Stephens Green looks great. There’s a nice balance between American-style classics, pubby British standbys, and more precious dishes that imply what might be called a sort of upward gustatory mobility.

But in order for a spot like this to succeed, all the food coming out of the kitchen has to be well thought out and executed, which was exactly the problem with a recent “daily special pizza,” for example. It just didn’t make sense. Or, rather, it could have made sense had its conception and construction been taken to their logical conclusions. And had the execution been better.

As it was, the surprisingly flavorless peach slices were sorely underseasoned and therefore inadequate foils for the tangy bits of goat cheese. And the coriander sprinkled on top, while an exotic touch, fell flat due to its lack of background palette of flavors to play against. After every bite, I found myself longing for a side dish of caramelized onions or a drizzle of reduced balsamic vinegar—anything, really, to bring some life and some much-needed sweetness to the proceedings.

The scallops, too—another dish with arguably haute aspirations—were disappointing, but for the entirely opposite reason as the pizza: Overconception. Wrapped in bacon—and I’d like to officially call a moratorium on wrapping scallops in bacon; like crème brûlée and trying to pull off wearing a mullet, it hardly ever works out as planned—the slightly overcooked scallops were completely overwhelmed by the smokiness of their jackets. And while the idea behind the orange-chile syrup glazing the plate was solid, it came off as far too tangy, far too piquant, to complement any of the other flavors on the plate.

Not everything at St. Stephens Green is upscale, and it was with those preparations that it hit its brightest notes. Buffalo wings, while a bit overcooked, possessed the kind of spicy kick that too many other such spots inexplicably seem to be shying away from these days. The sauce itself, a sweet, tangy, and garlicky affair, was also a winner.

And the Guinness battered fish and chips almost single-handedly made up for the depressing, inexplicably flaccid filets of soggy-crusted cod I’ve tasted this past year. Here, a moist filet was enrobed in a thick beer-batter crust whose seasoning was spot on and whose own slightly toasty flavors gave the dish a depth I hadn’t expected. (As for those chips, they were solid: Well-fried, salty, and composed of a high proportion of the so-called “crunchies” that everyone tends to fight over.)

But the burger brought me back down to earth: In a city whose burger wars are heating up faster than the beleaguered North Pole, an underseasoned, underachieving patty that relies on its toppings for the majority of its flavor will never stand out. Those toppings of a decent Gruyere and caramelized onions were pleasant sure but simply not enough.

Fortunately, all this hit-or-miss food was accompanied by a good beer selection. For my part, a solidly-pulled Guinness helped ease the sense of disappointment, as did the knowledge that, if I needed another one, the fabulously bitter Acme I.P.A. was on draught.

Beer, however, is not enough to make up for either mediocre food or for uneven service. On that end of things, our waitress could not have been more cheerful (my dining companion called her “spunky”), but the service standards were terribly off: Entrees came out before we were even close to being done with our appetizers—and there’s no comfort in the knowledge that your dinner is sitting in the kitchen beneath a heat-lamp. And dessert, an exquisitely moist, superbly balanced pineapple upside-down cake made by one of the restaurant’s neighbors (not a bakery, mind you, but an actual neighbor with a penchant for baking and an apparent gift for tropical fruit: The Pineapple Whisperer, perhaps), arrived before our entrée plates had been cleared.

Problems like these shouldn’t be apparent at this stage of the game. St. Stephens Green has been open since June, and they should have fixed any glitches by now. Gastropub or not, neighborhood restaurant and watering hole or not, it has a way to go. And with all the competition in the neighborhood these days—and with more to come in the next few months—I’d imagine that these issues would have to be rectified sooner rather than later.

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