How does a word enter our lives without introduction or definition?

What, Munch wonders, is a bartini?

Apparently, it is a world-wide phenomenon: a quick Google search hit on reviews and Web sites for bartinis in Portland, Ore., Dade County, Fla., and Sydney, Australia. Based on the braggadocio of these Web sites -- the word "swig" flashes, "quench" scrolls and drink menus are long with gaudy names like the Japanese Slipper, the Godfather and the Bikini Bartini -- Munch concluded that the bartini is a bar specializing in martinis.

Makes sense. We need more of those, thought Munch, a person quite partial to quaffing such high-octane libations. Goodness knows, it's not easy to get a good martini these days, with every drinking hole in town jumping on the Bar Louie bandwagon and offering vodka concoctions in brilliant hues laced with super-sweet tropical liquors, rims dusted with crushed candies or drizzled with Hershey's syrup.

Munch likes 'em vodka, extra dry, straight up, three fat green olives, with the barest hint of ice, chipped from the necessary shaking, to melt against the lip.

Now Pittsburgh has a bartini: True, the shiny new bar/coffeehouse/brunch/boite on the North Side. It's printed right there, on the bottom of the flyer, "cafe & bartini."

The large space strikes a balance of ease and scene: the front room, containing tables and the coffee bar, is warm and rustic, done in earth tones, hardwood and ceramic tile. The back room is bluish and swanky, lit by pools of light, with a long, glowing bar, a plasma TV with videos on continuous loop and a white window seat, piled with throw pillows.

In fact, Munch liked the seating all through True: the couches, the love seats, the high, scoop-seat stools and the chairs in the front room with built-in polka-dotted lumbar support.

Munch and FOM visited True thrice: once to test the mixological stylings of the barkeeps, again to confirm that the mixological stylings were indeed slick, and a third time, with throbbing heads, to test the hangover-curing properties of the brunch.

All were relished.

As was FOM, who is the kind of woman who turns heads, gliding into a room, always smiling though her stiletto heels pinch something awful. The room's reaction to her revealed the swing of True's clientele: On first visit, it was her pretty face and curvy form that turned heads and had pick-up artists circling, proffering Hypnotiq on the rocks and asking, "Where have you been all my life?" On second visit, it was her vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress that caused a buzz, among men with good haircuts who appreciate fashion, sipping Cosmos with their boyfriends on the love seat.

True has good martinis for all, though no martini list. Munch, wanting to deviate from the norm, wanted something a little sour, but not fruity. The bartender suggested a prettily named lemon drop and -- though the glass was rimmed in sour sugar -- it was a lovely concoction. The drink was delicate and cool.

FOM's spicy mama Absolut Pepper martini went nicely with the bar snack of wasabi peas, but it was too liquor-y for FOM, who prefers something a little less forward, like a tall, dark man wearing glasses smiling from a corner table.

The following morning, Munch met a more casually clad FOM for True's Sunday brunch, served from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. FOM, ever mindful of her figure, ordered the Atkins brunch of omelet, sausage and ham. Munch, ever susceptible to starchy cravings, ordered pecan hotcakes and a side of bacon.

After we made a quick trip to the table of mini-muffins, coffee cake and fruit salad, and several pit stops at the help-yourself coffee counter, the food came out, steaming and delicious. The sausage, in particular, was very good, plump and slightly crackly, especially when dipped into maple syrup. The pancakes were fluffy as pillows, the bacon crisp-chewy. It was so wholesome, FOM ordered a very spicy Bloody Mary, which the kind hostess doctored up, just for her.

Munch will return to True, because its vibe is ever-changing: one night it's hot, one night it's cool and in the morning, brunch is bright and happy. When the weather warms, those big picture windows will open out onto Western Avenue, letting in the air and noise, making you at your table part of the street scene of the North Side.

True is at 900 Western Ave., North Side (412-321-8783).