Cask’s delightful airline chicken, with truffles fries and Black Bubbles punch. Credit: Chip Weiner

I’m not sure what Cask gains as an acronym — we're told it's short for "Craft A'Fare|Social Kitchen" — but partners TJ Miller, Adam Itzkowitz and Vincent Jackson, wide receiver for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, have created a splendid space with clear, glowing Edison bulbs, rough-hewn timbers and monochrome pop-art canvases of Audrey Hepburn and Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp. There are, of course, casks as well. It’s a welcoming, if noisy, space.

Riding the wave of cocktail resurgence (no longer new, but still a good business choice), Cask offers some terrific craft beverages as well as a nice collection of dark spirits. In addition to the cask, the restaurant dips into the keg and barrel, too. There’s a smart selection of mostly local craft beer, plus a carefully chosen wine cellar (though some of the markups are stiff).

My Bulleit Rye Old Fashioned pops with house cinnamon bitters, vanilla syrup, filthy cherry and fresh orange. The single huge ice cube makes sure that the delicious concoction isn’t diluted too quickly. Our server warns that the syrup makes the Cask version a tad on the sweet side, yet we find it balanced and delightful.

One tablemate opts for Black Bubbles, a sweet mix of Ketel One vodka, fresh blackberries, St. George raspberry liqueur and fresh lemon juice, all topped with Champagne in the au courant mason jar. If your taste tends toward sweet and fruity, this one’s for you.

Because there’s a lot of technique to making good fries, I often order them as a test of attention to detail. Unfortunately, some of the region’s most acclaimed restaurants come up short on this front. Executive chef Jessica Wafford’s kitchen passes with flying colors. The truffle fries are thin, hot, crisp and fragrant with truffle oil. I don’t really notice the black pepper and parmesan listed on the menu, but that doesn’t matter. We devour these with our terrific cocktails.

A 20-foot vaulted ceiling patio is featured outside decked out with seating. Credit: Chip Weiner

The Sweet Belgian Bird appetizer is also first-rate. Although the sweet potato waffle could be crisper, the fried buttermilk chicken pieces are juicy, and taking a bite with some arugula — finished with a splash of bourbon maple syrup and a few pieces of spiced watermelon (served in a separate cup) — makes for a wonderful layered flavor combo.

If only everything exiting the kitchen had this much flavor.

The deviled eggs, with maple-bourbon candied bacon, chives and jalapeño salt, sound promising. However, the whites are rubbery and the yolks, while creamy, have little flavor punch.

Our first entree sings, or rather clucks. The Peachy Keen airline chicken breast is firm and juicy, contrasting nicely with the sweet braised peaches and tart tangle of greens to hit multiple taste buds.

Coastal penne promises lobster, crab and fresh catch (in this case, salmon) with bacon, leeks, tomatoes, Cajun cream sauce and the crunch of a panko cornmeal crust. As we order, I wonder how the delicate seafood will fare against assertive Cajun spices and the smokiness of bacon. Will the balancing act produce a delicious pasta variation on seafood jambalaya?

The eatery’s take on caprese salad with fried green tomatoes, mozz and all. Credit: Chip Weiner

It’s hard to believe with so many options to add flavor and texture that this dish is so dull. The pasta is overcooked, the panko “crust” is still hiding in the kitchen, and — despite the presence of a lobster claw chunk, shreds of crab and bits of salmon — the most flavorful things in the bowl are tiny slivers of unidentifiable green vegetables. Based on the style of food, I would guess celery, but they taste more like pieces of broccoli stalk. There’s surprisingly little seasoning; the cream sauce is apparent to the eye, but not to the tongue. Even salt and pepper would help. This one needs to be rethought. The whole is much less than the sum of its advertised parts.

Pig’s Revenge turns out to be ironically named. The soft, shredded cider-braised pork sits on squishy cornbread pudding buried under wilted spinach. Only a splendid beer-battered onion ring garnish provides texture. I adore pork, but the unrelenting flaccidity of this dish left me poking at my food like a finicky child, pushing my vittles to and fro.

Our dessert choices are more puzzling. Red velvet cake bread pudding is a misnomer. There’s no sweet custard binding stale cake; instead, a small, oblong cast-iron casserole with room-temperature red velvet is topped with a snake of spiked cream cheese and a line of caramel. It’s dry and completely underwhelming.

Worse is SoHo S’mores. Barely warm melted marshmallow adorns a big blob of squishy, stone-cold, totally unappealing chocolate glop. The graham cracker and blueberry balsamic listed on the menu don’t even register. A s’mores-obsessed tablemate — who revels in visions of sitting around the campfire as we await our meal’s denouement — manages one unhappy bite.

After reaching the craft cocktail and truffle fries summit, which salvages Cask half a star, we have fallen off the cliff and rapidly come crashing down toward the canyon floor like Wile E. Coyote. Thankfully, the valet parking is complimentary.

Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system.