BURRATA IS a mozzarella-like cow's milk cheese from the Puglia region of Italy — the "heel" of Italy's boot — that is traditionally made by blowing strings (called lucini) of the unfinished cheese up on one end like a balloon and filling it with curds and cream, then tying it off. At its freshest, the cheese's soupy center flows when pierced, and tastes absolutely dreamy on just about anything it comes in contact with — bread, tomatoes, a finger, shoe leather ...

It's rarely seen in Atlanta, mainly because it doesn't travel well and there aren't a lot of burrata makers in these parts.

Elissa Eubanks/AJC Staff (ENLARGE)
The spaghetti and meatballs dish comes from chef Don Diem's grandmother's recipe at Dolce Enoteca.
Elissa Eubanks/AJC Staff (ENLARGE)
The restaurant features a private dining area and a fireplace on a flat-screen television.
Elissa Eubanks/AJC Staff (ENLARGE)
The banana split and tomato bruschetta are part of a menu that pleases but shouldn't be taken too seriously.
Elissa Eubanks/AJC Staff (ENLARGE)
Ahh, burrata cheese. Now that's a treat. It comes with grilled tomatoes and prosciutto San Daniele. The front dining area lends itself to a happy-go-lucky vibe.
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Video: John Kessler's First Look at: Dolce Enoteca

Yet it's on the menu at Dolce Enoteca e Ristorante, where it seems an odd tablemate to the eatertainment attitude the restaurant sports: a noble bite of luscious Italian tradition amid floor-to-ceiling sheers, fake fire and tables stapled with black pleather.

There's little else to expect from the Dolce Group, which is busy gobbling up real estate all over the country to duplicate the success of the original Dolce Enoteca e Ristorante in Los Angeles. Atlanta and Reno are the group's first stops beyond the City of Angels. Also coming to Atlantic Station is Geisha House this spring, plus the recently opened Ten Pin Alley next door.

With Ashton Kutcher and most of the rest of the cast of "That '70s Show" as celebrity investors, it's hard to take these ventures too seriously.

The menu is rife with big, in-your-face food that begs for a doggie bag — not because it's particularly good, but because there is so much of it. The burrata, for instance, would be easily represented with half its portion. It's not always as unctuously oozing as it should be, but there's nothing wrong with chef Don Diem pairing it with prosciutto and tangy charred tomatoes. As such, it is a perfectly likable dish.

The same could be said for much of the rest of the menu. While there are no real clunkers, eating the food here sort of feels like kissing your sister. You walk away from it without remembering much, except to wonder why you did it.

Diem is at his best with simple dishes; when he stretches beyond a bowl of spaghetti laden with his grandma's recipe for old-fashioned "gravy" (it is as it should be: tomato, garlic, big fat meatballs, sausage), he gets into nebulous territory where bruschetta gets gummy with figs and fig reduction and lamb gets wrapped in pastry and pesto.

One dish where this ball-of-confusion approach actually works well is in the Hollywood chop salad — a mean mix of chopped lettuce and radicchio with salami, mozzarella and avocado — all tossed with a sweet balsamic vinaigrette.

And when Diem leaves bruschetta on its own with just a hint of garlic and olive oil, lots of diced tomato and basil, the result is happily satisfying. Tuna tartar on root chips is like a big party platter, something one might whip up for a Super Bowl party.

The staff is everything it should be at a place that feels like Vegas on steroids: Fun, informed — and sometimes completely and fabulously over the top. (If you want dinner and a show, ask for Tony.) The hostesses are lean and blond; the bartenders look like Greek gods.

Amiable Jeff Gelfond, director of wines and spirits, tirelessly runs around the crazy dining room making friends and suggesting wines as if he were the activities director on a cruise ship.

I must qualify all this by admitting that it was apparent to me that the staff had figured out my identity as a critic by the end of my first evening, though I hardly think it mattered. My waiter seemed to have as much to do as any of the other staff, and lulls between courses from the kitchen proved that no one was giving my food any special priority.

Special priority is what the food needs, actually, to rise above being just an acceptable part of this experience — no matter how much lip service the waiter will pay to its pedigreed origins and lengthy preparation time.

This is a party. This is a disco. And this is definitely foolin' around. Dolce Enoteca (which literally translates to "sweet wine bar" — does anybody get that? Anybody?) is a world unto itself, where meatballs are just the beginning of the mayhem.

Video: John Kessler's First Look at: Dolce Enoteca