San Diego’s hot-pink temple to the Art Deco era on Pacific Highway has garnered more recognition over the years for its eminent architecture than it has in fetching accolades for the eateries within. And one need not be a culinary snoot to figure out why.

What started out as Top’s Supper Club in the 1930s – a trysting spot for visiting celebrities and hotrod showoffs – has today morphed into three restaurants churning out highly pedestrian fare: Denny’s for “Moons Over My Hammy;” China Camp for safely spiced kung pao served in a California gold mining theme; and Fat City Steakhouse, touted for supposed bargain-value beef.

With three carnivores in tow, I forayed into the latter for the first time since the late Tom Fat opened it seven years ago. His Sacramento-based family now runs the joint while leasing to the other occupants.

Fat City captures the vintage look of a bygone chophouse with a hexagon-tiled floor, mahogany paneling, stained-glass ceiling and what appears to be a breeding ground for dozens of Tiffany lamps. Despite their numbers, the lighting lacks just enough intensity to cause optical fatigue when poring over the menu. A patio adorned by potted palms and a water fountain made of glass blocks was empty on the chilly night we visited, despite plenty of available space heaters.

The kitchen’s mesquite grill became evident to us immediately upon walking inside the dining room. The aroma of wood chips that cooks feed to the flames permeated the room acerbically, smelling as though a paper fire had just occurred. That same ashy essence would later dominate some of our entrées in both pleasant and pungent degrees.

The menu features a variety of steaks mixed oddly with a few Italian dishes such as fettuccini Alfredo and scampi, not to mention several items dominated by a secret Asian sauce to reflect the Fat family’s Chinese heritage.

“It’s a restaurant that doesn’t know what it wants to be,” commented a friend in our group after we consumed a mish mash of mostly forgettable dishes.

New England clam chowder earned unanimous raves, however. I liked it especially for its low-flour content, as the milky broth avoided the roux-like blandness found in other recipes. The base of the soup revealed fresh clam juice with underlying hints of bacon and onion. Best of all, the clam pieces were as tender as chicken.

An order of potato skins generated little excitement – the “boats” varying between thin and crispy and overly pulpy. A quartet of chicken Yakitori skewers slathered in a syrupy and flavorful Asian sauce were more exciting and introduced us to our first encounter with the mesquite grill, which provided adequate smokiness to the thigh meat. Compared to jumbo shrimp cocktail, fried calamari or Buffalo chicken wings, the skewers are the most imaginative appetizer on the menu.

A mixed green salad crowned with a thin filet of grilled salmon (slathered with the same Asian sauce as the chicken) was also satisfying, although we couldn’t rejoice much over the sourdough dinner rolls brought to the table, which were severely dry and bready.

When a person in our group upgraded his New York steak entrée with a lobster tail, my hunch that trouble would ensue proved correct since seafood options are practically non-existent here. The lobster meat was completely flavorless – tough on the outside and undercooked within. I’m guessing that it arrived via the iceman a couple days prior and was kept loosely sealed in the fridge until haphazardly cooked. And the fact that it initially came without fresh lemon attested to the low service standard: our mature, well-dressed waiter continually failed to provide silverware replacements and water refills. Even worse, he left half of our foursome sitting without entrées for nearly 10 minutes after serving the others.

The steak, too, lacked flavor, save for the mesquite grill markings camouflaging its mediocre grade. I also ordered a New Yorker, but served “Frank’s Style,” which is cooked with the signature Asian sauce and buried to death in sautéed onions. The menu touts the dish as “a favorite with the State Legislature at the legendary Frank Fat’s in Sacramento – circa 1939.” Perhaps this was fancy stuff back in the good old days of lawmaking. But one need not look any further than a neighborhood diner or an inexpensive Korean restaurant to encounter similar preparations and quality.

For a few bucks more, you can opt for prime top sirloin or bone-in rib eye – choices that we regretfully passed over in our quest to find decent steaks at bargain prices.

Another in the group ordered brandy chicken, marinated in fresh ginger, garlic, brandy and soy sauce. We could detect only the latter underneath an over-charred flavor that my friend described as something you’d get at a backyard picnic from a grill host who drank too much. As expected, the breast meat was juiceless and the skin tasted blow torched.

Entrées are served with a choice of baked potato, fresh veggies, buttery Basmati rice or shoestring potatoes that remain addicting until they quickly cool down. And the big dessert rave is banana cream pie made with a dense cap of whipped cream shrouding fresh-tasting, well-chilled bananas.

Yet for us, it will take more than a decent bowl of clam chowder and a dreamy dessert before returning enough times to get fat here.