The notion of enjoying dinner and drinks outside in the open air overlooking a sparkling lake---of relaxing and laughing as the sinking sun stretches shadows toward the water on a temperate summer evening.

Such was the draw for my friends and I last Saturday. Such was the draw to Bella Vita.

Without doubt, Bella Vita Ristorante, 11699 Fall Creek Rd, is an aesthetically pleasing place---the restaurant's clubhouse façade belies the crisp, contemporary dining room and bar area within. Tall, east-facing windows provide inside guests a nice view of action both on the party deck and the marina below.

And with a near panoramic of the glimmering Geist as its backdrop, the atmosphere out on the patio is main attraction. To be sure, after my friends and I were seated in a prime spot on the deck, I was instantly seduced by the summer sights (folks mingling and drinking) and sounds (a DJ delivering music, the subtle susurrance of the water) synonymous with an ideal meal outdoors; and the sensations held promise of sustention.

That is before the actual dinner service began.

And those momentary drifts into delusion would prove to be the highlight of the evening.

Since the majority of this essay focuses on the actual service, I'll drop my stabs at lofty prose and get down to a brief digression: The food wasn't bad. But when contrasted with the prices, the cuisine sails into the realm of mediocrity.

The chicken Marsala ($18), while delivered chilly with a few florets of overcooked broccoli, had decent flavor; the 3-course, Ultimo Special ($30) featured a shockingly dry, herb-covered salmon filet which was the epitome of "petite"; and Pollo alla Romano ($17) were a lightly-breaded pair of chicken paillards served over fettuccini alfredo which---again, juxtaposed with the price---proved straightforward and unsurprising.

And then there was the tortellini. But I'm getting ahead of myself---allow me back up.

After initially being seated on the patio, our drinks from the bar were delivered quickly; but there seemed to be some confusion about where (or perhaps who) our server was. Our waiter was an amiable fellow, but he disappeared for considerable lengths of time. And this was before we ordered appetizers (Pane Granchio: imitation crabmeat on toast covered with shredded cheese for $13).

While never inquiring about it, on several instances we were promised fresh bread from the oven. And two warm, parmesan-topped loaves arrived. At the end of the night. Along with our bills. Again, I'm flashing forward.

Our menus were spread across the table for nearly 30 minutes before we placed our dinner order; two from our party requested (which after a week of reliving the disappointing experience, has now become) the infamous Tortellini Michelangelo ($16).

Only one of the tortellini arrived at the table, which---after being assured it was en route---seemed like no big deal. Alas, if 'twere true.

Again, our server was nowhere in sight, and most of us held off eating, anticipating the arrival of the pasta dish. This went on for an obscene amount of time. Eventually, we spotted someone making their rounds from table to table, chatting with guests, and who we assumed to be a manager. So we motioned him to our table.

The dinner's death knell came in the form of this manager---let's call him "A".

Still missing a meal, "A" promised our friend that he'd deal with the problem forthwith, and he proceeded inside to take care of it. Like other illusions that evening, "A" would take a page from our server's disappearing act. After a while, I got up from the table and entered the restaurant, where I saw "A" conversing with a table near the kitchen. I reminded him about the missing tortellini entrée. Again, there seemed to be some confusion about where the food was, and "A" stated our friend's meal would be comped, which I announced after returning to my seat.

But by this point, our tortelliniless friend's husband---who'll go under the sobriquet of, I don't know, let's say "Ryan"---was far from impressed. Another 6 or 8 minutes passed and still no entrée. Now "Ryan" headed inside the restaurant. Eventually, both "A" and "Ryan" returned, with the latter looking more concerned than the former.

"A" presented our two friends with a $30 gift card, and encouraged their return, while "Ryan" attempted to illustrate the tepidity of the entire effort. Verbally, more transpired; and at one point the manager, "A", actually invoked a mind-numbing statistic about how much money the restaurant would rake in that evening, as if sharing this would somehow anesthetize our experience or impress us to the point of flattery.

Neither transpired that night. Exit "A", stage right.

The meal's comical pièce de résistance was the dessert, which---as part of my brother's Ultimo Special---should have been strawberry shortcake. Instead he was presented with two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a Styrofoam to-go box. He lives about 45 minutes away. The tortellini arrived as well, boxed up.

(On the aside, from time to time throughout the evening I glanced down to the dock, where several boat owners enjoyed the easy evening with drinks, cigars, and each other's company. Yet on several instances I observed the lounging, blücher-wearing boaters, along with their linen-clad guests, tossing spent cigarette butts into the water along the dock. And while it does seem a touch trivial, I'm still puzzled and troubled by this indecent dichotomy: That some of these folks (that is, older people who should know better) who actually partake in the aquatic benefits of Geist---a place which ostensibly prides itself on remaining pristine---clearly behave with such carelessness and brow-furrowing insouciance. But I digress.)

There's a dodgy dissonance between quality and quantity at Bella Vita. The food was not remarkable, but the prices and service, sadly, were.

Here's the parting caveat: Don't give in to induced delusions. If you do so, it might be too late before you realize you've wandered off the dock, left with nothing more than a Styrofoam box full of soggy food and an empty wallet.