Abandon all pretension of moderation at the door. Mario’s is the place to live la dolce vita and indulge in a menu of Italian favorites (including pizzas, lasagne, and pastas like fettuccine Alfredo drowning in heavy sauces and creams). There’s also a better-than-it-has-to-be house wine. The walls are covered in photos of midcentury movie stars and sports icons, Sinatra plays in the background, and red checkered cloths adorn the tables. If you show up Thursday through Saturday evening, you can dine while a live band performs Rat Pack standards. Or you can sidle up to the bar on a quiet afternoon like we did and be greeted by a short, bald man with a warm smile and a delicate Persian lilt to his voice. That’s Mo, the owner, who bought the place from the Mario who started it all. (A photo of the late restaurateur doing his best Dean Martin impression hangs near the band stage.) Finally, speaking of dolce, don’t leave without having a slice of the Italian cream cake.