Few restaurants become instant hits within a month after opening. The first week is like a dress rehearsal, fraught oftentimes with kitchen glitches and staffing riddles. Afterwards, proprietors seize upon their mistakes for transforming blunders into best behaviors. And by week four, the operation hopefully presents itself like a moist, feathery soufflé able to withstand a little jolting after it leaves the oven.

The Mission Hills Bistro, which turned 90 days old last week, seems to have opened its doors long before it was ready. What my dining companion and I encountered was a series of culinary faux pas that you’d expect to witness in a high-school home economics class.

What the bistro has going for itself is a bright, clean atmosphere adorned with Venetian murals and an eye-catching art installation of small-sized paintings. The obvious theme here is Italian, which delivers more saucy torment than what I remember experiencing when Lorenzo’s occupied the space.

From the list of uninspired appetizer choices written on a white board, we chose Fried Eggplant and Mozzarella Sticks. The thinly sliced eggplants would have been palatable had they been fried at a higher temperature and drained on paper towels before being served. The amount of oil captured by the breading was extreme. The fried mozzarella sticks were void of flavor, which one could expect when eating cheese that fails to melt. The accompanying crock of marinara sauce, if indeed homemade, tasted straight from a jar. Some of it was warm; other areas contained cold spots.

A super-acidic vinegar dressing went to war with our dinner salads, which contained a nice mix of greens tossed with unidentifiable bits of meat and cheese. Halfway through, I fished out an errant strip of fatty roast beef before casting aside the plate.

I’m not sure if we’d have been better off ordering from the short list of “American Dinners” listed on the back of the menu card rather than investing our faith in the Italian entrées, which left us sour-faced. My dining companion that evening, whose palate lacks prejudice, poked despairingly through his Vegetable Lasagna layered with hard, undercooked zucchini and mushrooms. A side of Italian sausage he ordered didn’t arrive until we were ready to pay our bill.

I ordered Baked Ravioli, stuffed with portabella mushrooms, and a side of meatballs. In this case, everything was overcooked. Some of the ravioli were seared to the plate and required extrication with a butter knife. The meatballs were miserably dark and rugged.

Our meal was made worse by disjointed service. The waiter vacillated from friendly to distant, and became defensive when we asked him for grated Parmesan cheese, which had about as much twang as confetti. At one point the owner came out to assist him, approaching the few occupied tables wearing shorts and ` stained T-shirt. In the restaurant business, that’s as much of a lapse in judgment as lighting a cigarette at the gas pump. I give him credit, though, for shaving 50 percent off our tab because of the sausage mishap.

The remaining dinner menu is awash in sauce-drowned, cheese-capped Italian standbys, such as Chicken Parmigiana, Rigatoni, Ravioli and the like. The bistro’s signature dish, however, caught our eye – Ostrich, Emu or Eel Parmigiana served over pasta. American fare includes Grilled Ahi Tuna, Homestyle Meatloaf, Filet Mignon and Rosemary Chicken. A choice of accompaniments such as Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Rice Pilaf or Macaroni and Cheese are included in the prices.

“Should we stay for dessert?” I asked my companion after receiving a less-than-enthusiastic rundown of the offerings from our waiter, which includes outsourced Cheesecake, Tiramisu and Chocolate Brownies.

As a woman across the room stood from her chair and shouted into the kitchen for a steak knife, we headed straight out the door.