A "real" food critic would tell you that a buckshot approach to menu composition does a disservice to both the customer and the kitchen, allowing neither to focus on what ought to be a few core speciality dishes. As usual, Munch says the hell with what a real food critic would tell you. (If Jonathan Gold is so smart, why can't he ever remember to comb his hair?) Because if there's one thing Munch adores about the Pittsburgh restaurant scene, it's those restaurants that specialize in everything and nothing. Should I try the surf 'n' turf or the meatball hoagie? Chicken wings or the flounder almondine? Center-cut pork chops or the fettuccine alfredo?

Dante's, 4131 Brownsville Road, Brentwood; 412-884-4001

Munch can't explain the affection for such places, except to note that they made up a dominating portion of Munch's childhood dining experiences, or at least the ones that didn't involve trips to The Corner Bar, which, come to think of it, served crab legs as well as pizzas. But don't confuse these establishments with the newfangled gastropubs, those uber-cool bars that serve uber-cool dishes at uber-expensive prices ("You want $24 for a shepherd's pie?"). As was the case with fleetingly famous mesh trucker hat, worn here as a wardrobe staple before others wore it with irony, Pittsburgh was doing something akin to the gastropub long before anybody in New York thought it was cool to do it, or before anybody at Cheescake Factory Inc. realized pasta bolognese + Vietnamese summer rolls + Southern-fried chicken sliders = bazillion dollars gross revenue.

We Pittsburghers were just ahead of our time, that's all. And we certainly didn't call it the "gastropub." We called it The Corner Bar, or whatever it is you called your own personal neighborhood spot with a big front bar, a "formal" dining room in the back, and a labyrinthine menu that takes 20 minutes to sort through.

So what are we to make Dante's Restaurant and Lounge, the new spot on Brownsville Road? Gastropub? Pittsburgh Italian? Greek hybrid, as the name on the restaurant marquis would suggest? Yes, all of these, Munch supposes. But personally, Munch likes the ring of Big Tent Lounge Cuisine. To qualify for the label, you'll need A) a menu with at least 70 selections, and B) a couple of Cherry Master machines near the bar.

Munch visited on a weekday, after the lunch rush, and had the kitchen staff to Munch-self. It's kind of like being royalty. Snap your fingers, and the server comes running. Snap again, and she brings you a plate of food. Snap again and your drink is refilled. Frankly, Munch doesn't understand why more people don't go out for lunch at 3:30 on a Monday.

The appetizer portion of the menu is where you'll find the Greek influences (stuffed grape leaves, baba ghaboush, saganaki and such). It's also where you'll find the stuffed potato skins ($5.75) and, of course, the calamari ($6.50), not fried, as is customary at many Pittsburgh restaurants, but sauteed in a red wine sauce. But Munch opted for the spanakopita ($5.75), a personal fave -- filo dough, stuffed with spinach and feta. This presentation was heavy and crispy more than it was light and flaky. Munch prefers the latter, but the cheese and the spinach held together nicely, rather than collapsing when poked at with a fork.

There are five dinner salads here, all for under $10, a half dozen or so each of the Italian and seafood concoctions, and several cuts of beef (rib eye, filet, New York Strip) if you're visiting for dinner. Munch, as is often the case, was visiting for sandwich-related purposes.

Among the fraternity of lounges that has the good sense to offer a turkey club ($7.75) on the menu, there seems to be a friendly competition for the title of Biggest Turkey Club. Munch isn't sayin' this was the biggest we've ever seen, and Munch isn't sayin' it wasn't -- all Munch is sayin' is, this sandwich would have fed a moose. Not the animal, but the entire membership of a Moose lodge.

A doggie bag was summoned. The sandwich was finished the following day, and surprisingly, the bacon, toast and lettuce were all still crisp on Day 2.

The lounge, like the menu, is catch-all. Dance floor? Check. Disco ball? Check. Weeknight wing specials? Check. Black-and-white photos of Terry Bradshaw on the walls? Check.

You're probably wondering, does Dante's have a big-screen TV in the dining room that is tuned to sporting competitions when appropriate, but during dinner hours displays a giant aquarium screen saver, with a bunch of CGI fish floating by?

Yes, it does. Aren't you glad you asked?