It's not the comfort of Mom's kitchen, but there are times when a light atmosphere with fun and reliable dining opportunities are just what the psychotherapist ordered. At the end of last week, I wished I could have met all my friends and loved ones at the playful Cheeky Monkey in Newport. But I did manage to meet an old foodie pal there, importing him from out of state. Little talk of the dire or dreadful, by unspoken agreement. Just good food and catching-up, capped off with glasses of port taken to the upstairs cigar lounge, where I could break out a couple of sweet little Havanas acquired in Vancouver, and we toasted with a heartfelt l'chaim.

The restaurant announces its tone right off, with the squiggily red neon sign visible around the corner, at the beginning of lower Thames Street. Parking was a challenge, but this annual hassle will ease soon, with resident stickers not required after October.

Inside, the informality ramps up to outright silliness with several unlabeled gilt-frame "portraits." One dapper chimpanzee sports a bow tie and holds a trombone, while another strikes a dignified dowager pose. The Britishism "cheeky monkey" means brashly bold -- a term usually employed with fond regard by the gin and tonic set. We were taken through the long area that faces an open kitchen and seated in a wide alcove that continues the droll theme with wall-to-wall tiger-pattern carpeting.

This place is five years old. The thematic whimsicality was carried to a fault at the beginning, with monkey ties on the waitstaff and "monkey tail" curly fries evidently prompting enough cries of "Enough with the monkeys, already!" to calm things down. But in addition to the slices of French bread, a molasses-sweetened brown bread could very well have been (I forgot to ask the waitress) banana bread. It is, however, yummy enough to go "Ook-ook!" over, if you're so disposed.

Fear not. The kitchen takes food seriously. The restaurant is a saucy kid sister of the highly regarded Gatehouse in Providence, where grown-ups sit across from grown-ups and do not slouch. Proprietor Hank Kates has Gatehouse-trained Jeff Cruff here as executive chef, and the standards have remained high.

The half-dozen appetizers, in addition to a lobster bisque, are eclectic, ranging from Chinese dumplings ($8) and a panko-crusted tuna nori roll ($10) to "New Orleans BBQ" shrimp ($12). Being from Marblehead, Massachusetts, Jerry hasn't yet had his fill of calamari, so he picked the Cheeky Monkey signature offering ($9). Served next to mesclun greens, the squid rings (and one token array of tentacles) had a light corn meal coating and were tossed in a spicy hot sauce that piqued, rather than cauterized, the taste buds, the piquancy amplified by saltiness. There were cherry pepper slices, but the billed prosciutto-stuffed element wasn't detectable. We also enjoyed a grilled asparagus salad ($10), which consisted of five spears, more mesclun, and fresh corn relish.

Entrées number only nine on the menu, plus a daily special, with a good variety of seafood and meat, prices starting at $22. I enjoyed the half duck ($26), described as "slow-roasted," in case you're looking for juicy pink slices. My dining companion considered it dry, but I merely found it different, the duck having the consistency of pot roast, shredding easily to the touch of the fork. A sauce, however, might have been preferable to the reduction glaze. The accompanying sweet potato hash, with a touch of ginger, and mango-pear chutney was welcome.

Jerry enjoys paella so much that he recently ordered it four times during four days in Barcelona. So his description of it as "terrific, for America" was a big round of applause rather than a put-down. I would have applauded if my fork hadn't been so busy, digging into a shelled lobster, fat sea scallops, several slices of chourico, and a dozen mussels standing at attention in Spanish rice infused with the seafood's broth. Perfect, especially considering that none of the items -- which require various cooking times -- were overcooked. The lobster paella is priced to market -- $36 during our visit.

We could have had a light sorbet, or a butterscotch crème brûlée (don't worry -- there's a chocolate choice, pudding cake) but I hadn't had bananas Foster ($6.95) in a long time. The brown-sugared fruit slices came in a pastry shell, topped with vanilla ice cream, the rum set alight at the table. Both the showmanship and the taste were attention grabbing. I didn't think of primates once.

Bill Rodriguez can be reached at billrod@reporters.net.

Issue Date: September 21 - 27, 2001