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There was a time when mobsters, movie stars, sports heroes, and politicians ate at Umberto's Clam House. Forty years later, a tour bus is perpetually parked out front and, like much of contemporary Little Italy, the restaurant feels like a contrivance—in this case, a Fisherman's Wharfian one. The dining room's decorative oars, floats, life preservers, netting, sea-faring prints, and taxidermied fish are neatly arranged on exposed-brick walls and, sadly, not in the least ramshackle. Wall-mounted TVs broadcast the game. As for the famous clams, the safest bets are littlenecks, topnecks, and cherrystones on the half-shell. Baked or fried, they're a bit tough but buttery breadcrumbs can make up for a lot. Pasta sauces here, be they red, white, spicy or sweet, are one-dimensional. And the truly bizarre biscuits that accompany many entrees, are actually toasted, rock-hard bread served in one of two fashions: buried in red sauce or mounded with olive oil and raw garlic. The wee hours draw a more urbane crowd in search of something more than a slice to quell their hunger. Perhaps the greatest of Umberto's draws is its colorful past: Crazy Joe Gallo was gunned down in 1972 at the restaurant's original location, two blocks south, while eating scungilli with clam sauce. — Colleen McKinney

Baked clams, $14.50