The trendy, neighborly and daring best describe the 23-room Pearl Hotel and its namesake restaurant, The Pearl. Formerly the Sportsman Lodge, the circa-1959 structure situated in subdued Point Loma was purchased by a local real estate developer and retailored into an urban-chic haunt that would readily fly on the beaten trod of West Hollywood.

The building’s outer shell still appears like a motor lodge for the most part, blending inconspicuously with non-glitzy commercial architecture in the area. The interior, however, blossoms unexpectedly with newfangled sheen, pulling in glass, marble, stone and loungy lighting to achieve a modern-retro ambience worthy of an HGTV makeover show.

A row of windowed doors trimmed in stained wood separate the bar and dining area from the modest-size swimming pool stocked with oversized beach balls. There’s also a large screen suspended above the deck that projects the fodder for “dive-in” movies every Wednesday night – a strategy to draw in the locals.

The restaurant itself is really more of a bar with an actual “dining room,” seating limited to about four high glass tables running along the pool doors. If you can’t seize one, meals are served also at the bar or in a small offshoot lounge carpeted in shag and furnished with low couches. A few pair of shoes parked under the lounge’s raised floorboards signaled some cozy possibilities for those choosing to stretch their legs in this much quieter area.

It takes only a couple of loud talkers to amplify the din in the main area, as my companion and I discovered while enduring a raucous conversation between two fast-drinking, yacht-owner types. Thankfully they left halfway through our meal, allowing us to better concentrate on the food.

Simplicity is the menu’s strongpoint and weakness. Roasted tomato and red pepper soup, for instance, came bursting with straightforward flavors softened by a touch of marscapone cheese, but lacking a much-needed garnish of crostini. Unique and intelligible was an appetizer called “Cuban cigars,” a mulch of roasted pork, Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese rolled into two long ropes of delicate wonton casings, and served with a robust, smoky mustard for dipping. Not bad.

Though pitifully unimaginative was a whole leaf Caesar salad, barely dressed, and comprised only of several loosely separated outer leaves tossed in to a bowl as though designated for a sandwich. My friend’s spinach salad (the only other salad choice) was a trifle more gratifying because of apple wedges, blue cheese crumbles and so-so bacon vinaigrette pepping up the greens.

The kitchen ran slow on the not-so-busy evening we visited. It took about an hour to receive the above-mentioned dishes. And missing in action was a second appetizer of shrimp nachos that we ordered, which the waitress never acknowledged. Nor did we bother once our main entrées appeared.

Understated, though very good, was an airline cut of lemon-rosemary chicken served over mashed potatoes that tasted buttery and homespun rather than garlic infused as the menu suggested. Just as well. Speckled over the chicken’s crispy skin was sun-dried tomato tapenade employing a loving touch of sweetness to the meat. But a bargain entrée this isn’t. The de-ribbed breast with its attached wing joint is mighty petite for $17.

An eight-ounce New York steak that we were told is “prime grade” behaved like USDA quality instead. A heavy amount of tedious gristle on the edges gave way to unevenly distributed fat throughout the cut. And we were indifferent to the puddle of shallot sauce lurking beneath, which reminded us of a Worcestershire-based concoction fit for British palates.

Among the other entrée choices are seasonal ravioli, pan-seared salmon, crispy macadamia fin fish and paperadelle pasta with little neck clams. (Judging from an amuse bouche of the clams sent out prior to our starter courses, I could easily withstand these fresh ‘n tasty bivalves rolling around in my pasta with garlic and white wine.)

The Pearl is still a fuzzy young hatchling with earnest culinary aspirations that has yet to acquire a firm identity. The meals vacillate between minimalist and trendy to comforting and creatively sustainable, though for now they’re largely upstaged by an appealing interior design poised to attract greater numbers of metro types onto the peninsula for cocktails and poolside flicks.

And until the menu and limited wine list are redesigned, which we were assured will occur soon, you’ll need a telescopic lens to zero in on the small-sized font printed in super-light beige. Ditto for the menu posted on The Pearl’s Web site. Our waitress, however, was kind enough to supply us with a pocket flashlight, admitting that it’s made the rounds among other eye-squinting guests over the months.

For dessert, you need only a set of ears because the day’s offerings are instead recited. My favorite was a thick heaping of jasmine-vanilla rice pudding, winning over mediocre chocolate truffles and mini lemon cheesecake. Yes, there are pearls to be found here, and with a full necklace seemingly in the make.