My fondest memories of Humphrey’s by the Bay date back to the late 1980s, when a certain someone serenaded me there every December for my birthday with wine, steak and a little leg kneading under the table. While that love affair remains unbroken, the restaurant these days could use some extra affection.

An obliging view of the Shelter Island boat harbor mildly compensates for the dining room’s outdated carpet and upholstery, which matches in dreariness the stoic watercolor art on the walls. And where there is plate ware corroding at the edges and Rattan chairs better suited for a Days Inn hotel lobby, there is usually someone in high management appeasing the status quo. The fine-dining atmosphere I used to know has plainly gone adrift.

Conversely, the adjoining Backstage Lounge has undergone a contemporary facelift for nightly live bands that belt out everything from funk to rock to world beat music. It’s a confusing operation that segregates the young from the old, the hip from the hokey.

The menu, however, is more straightforward – a quintessential rundown of waterfront fare decently presented, but mediocre in flavor. With a sibling companion in tow, our genetics rang true as we shrugged in unison over the Tempura Fried Shrimp appetizer. The shrimp were asphyxiated by an airless dense batter that required deep dips in a ramekin of soy sauce for added gusto. An accompanying plop of cabbage salad dressed with peanut-cilantro vinaigrette tasted much better.

Our second appetizer of Zucchini-Olive Ravioli could have been more eventful if only we had detected those olives. Yet, like brother like sister, we enthusiastically mopped up the savory tomato-cream sauce on the plate with some rather doughy table bread.

Differing opinions surfaced, however, over the restaurant’s Signature Salad, constructed with Asian pears, mild blue cheese crumbles and a sweet but colorless blood-orange dressing. I blurted, “delicious.” She mumbled, “nothing special.”

Despite the excellent service we received from our swift and friendly waiter, the kitchen wasn’t up to speed as the cooks forgot how to assemble their very own award-winning Taste of San Diego entrée. The dish features several large shrimp doused in Dijon mustard and chive-butter sauce, normally served over mushroom risotto rather than the mashed potatoes we received. After a quick re-plating, we realized the spuds were a better choice over the listless and mealy risotto that we ended up pushing aside.

My Angus Filet Mignon, ordered medium, arrived disturbingly rare and cool in the middle, although the Madeira-black truffle sauce appointing it was bold and mouthwatering. Fortunately, the person waiting at home for me that evening enjoys beef this raw and always welcomes my occasional doggie bags when I sup with others.

Other meaty meals include Black Angus T-Bone, Roast Rack of Lamb and Truffled Breast of Chicken. Seafaring appetites are given more options with things like Sautéed Arctic Char, Baked Pacific Swordfish, King Salmon and a macadamia-crusted halibut filet that our waiter strongly recommended to us.

But if only he could have steered us away from that Lemon Cheesecake on the dessert tray, which didn’t offer an iota of citrus flavor, or even the essence of cream cheese for that matter. I couldn’t help but wonder if we ended up with the display piece.

Far more satisfactory was a dark-chocolate creation we chose that resembled a large Cadbury egg. The luscious rich mousse inside helped offset some of the meal’s disappointments, and left me hopeful that Humphrey’s can bounce back to life with a little TLC and attention to detail. The yachts-in-your-face panorama might easily captivate tourists from landlocked states, but it isn’t enough to anchor down the fine-dining set.