The showy two-level restaurant in the Gaslamp District, formerly known as Osetra The Fishhouse, has altered its name to Osetra Watergrill as a way of reaching out to red meat eaters who assumed the menu was “all surf” and “no turf.” Though still nebulous in its verbiage, Osetra has more importantly quelled its outdated, Vegas-style gleam; a change that I’m guessing was driven by a smattering of negative reviews that applied the adjective “ostentatious” to the restaurant more than once. Part of that indictment was based also on lavish meal prices, which conversely haven’t cooled down.

The “wine angels” remain – women who scale a towering edifice in bungee contraptions to pluck bottles from an extensive vino collection. (Those crotch-crunching harnesses aren’t kind to men, a manager told me. So, don’t expect any Peter Pans winking down at you.) The spectacle juts through an earthier color palette and softer textures compared to the glitzy lighting and glassy blue motif of yesterday. And the new, ground-level E-5 Lounge, named after this prime location at Fifth Avenue and E Street, provides budget-conscious Gaslampers with a rambling tapas menu of meat, seafood, salads and sides.

Osetra caviar from northern California sturgeon is still available, but less flaunted on the menu compared to when the restaurant opened four years ago. It sells for $125 per ounce, giving conventioneers on fat expense accounts a taste of the pre-recession good life.

The owners’ Sicilian lineage peppers the main menu. The result is an American-Italian-Gaslamp fusion of dishes such as oysters Rockefeller using cold-water Fanny Bays and Blue Points; sesame-crusted ahi tuna (snooze); duck ravioli; seafood bouillabaisse; pasta; steaks and more.

Consider the “trio tartare” as a novel appetizer – and if you don’t mind shelling out $18 for it. The dish meticulously stacks lump crab, spicy raw tuna and fresh avocado, all nicely accented by a dash of wasabi oil. My companion liked better the big, puffy Maryland crab cake adorned with mango salsa and Tabasco aioli. A third starter, tempura Mexican shrimp, offered less thrills. The batter was too bulky and the shrimp were drizzled with a sweetened, common-tasting soy sauce.

A glass of 2005 Malbec from Argentina I ordered at this point was served well above the standard 57 degrees, zapping the grape’s fruity properties beyond repair. The restaurant’s 5,000-bottle wine collection is stored in both the main wine tower and a basement vault. (In earlier days, the building housed a bank.) The reds are supposedly temperature controlled, although our lead waiter was mystified as to why mine arrived warm.

From the salad category, we hit a winner with an arrangement of warm Yukon Gold potatoes and French green beans. Oregano and olive oil imparted a rustic Italian essence that’s kept clean and simple. A blood orange and beet salad, however, didn’t fully live up to its name because only a single section from a juice orange garnished the plate.

Our entrées were pleasing rather than sensational. My companion’s Chilean sea bass rested on logs of light polenta interspersed with thin asparagus. The fish was cooked to a pearly white finish, in other words a few minutes longer than what I would have preferred. And of the perky tomato-citrus emulsion augmenting the filet – we wished for more of it.

My pork porterhouse, which I requested “medium,” also ended up a tad overcooked. And it was heavily studded with black pepper. Only near the bone did the meat retain its precious juices and untainted flavor. Yet a complement of small whole potatoes, some of them purple Peruvians, proved a refreshing change from the humdrum mashed versions landing on every pork and steak plate in town. Although if you must, the menu lists lobster mashed potatoes in the “special sides” section. They haven’t quite yet been discovered by copycat chefs, which leaves me mildly curious.

Desserts are made in-house – the “lemon tower” registering to us as fresher and craftier compared to pistachio mousse layered with sponge cake. The latter tasted day-old and lacked dimension while the lemon tower, also incorporating sponge cake, was prettier, zestier and offset with fresh strawberry sauce.

Service was efficient, if not over-accommodating given the fact we had three dapper waiters looking over us, with one of them asking often if we were enjoying the food before certain courses passed through our lips. But when dining in the rapidly beating heart of the Gaslamp, we’ll take all of the pampering we can get.