Munch's peeps on the South Side swear by City Grill. They love the feel of the place and their conversations about life with the affable and aptly named bartender, Bear. Night owls all, they appreciate that dinner -- made from scratch, with quality ingredients, even vegetables -- is served long into the night, at a time when only the greasy spoons on this strip of East Carson still hum with a half-inebriated clientele.

For months, these friends put a buzz in Munch's ear: "Go there. You gotta try it. I'm telling you." Finally, a particularly persuasive FOM commanded, "Meet me at 8 p.m.," and Munch caved.

Even on the drizzliest night, City Grill is luminous: its sign is a blue blaze of neon, a shade both bright and deep, old-fashioned and unmatched. Munch has always loved the moody glow that settles on the face underneath it at night.

But Munch never chased the neon glow indoors, after a particularly wet burger bun and hours of onion-burping indigestion in 1994 put the discriminating diner off City Grill. Until now.

Munch abides by a very strict social contract: Always be on time for beer. So at 8 p.m. sharp on the designated evening, Munch strolled through City Grill's double doors and plunked down $2 for a Yuengling on the bar to the right.

The City Grill of old was dingy; if that's what you remember, you may not recognize this place now. It's brighter. The greasy little window to the kitchen is gone. You're not crammed along the back wall with a view of the toilet, rubbing elbows with the chain smoker at the next table.

Now, the clean and spacious dining room stretches back toward the kitchen, leading the eye to those swinging doors, as if to say: This is the heart. There are wooden booths and little checkered-cloth covered tables, most just perfect for canoodling with your gal/guy.

Up front, Munch likes that City Grill is a "grill," as in grillroom, not a "grille." The latter, pretentiously Brit spelling reeks of a place trying to be something it isn't -- Lord knows it won't be the sort of place that can put together a good hamburger.

City Grill does a good burger. And here's a little secret shared by Munch's buddy: It's owned by a Tessaro. Yup -- the same Tessaros who cook up those fat and revered burgers in Bloomfield. This means that, in a City Grill burger, you get freshly ground meat with a fat content calculated for maximum flavor.

Munch's burger, topped with chewy bacon, was a round ball of juicy burger cradled in a soft bun. It tasted just as beefy as a Bloomfield burger, but it was -- thankfully -- a more modest mouthful than the beef colossus Tessaro's serves up. Munch likes a thinner hamburger and appreciates a place that puts a little stock in their buns and buys them sweet, wide and cushiony, like City Grill's.

Before the burger, Munch and FOM slurped a house-made seafood bisque that was pink and flavorful, rather than milky. We ate gooey brie wrapped in puff pastry, drizzled with a not-sweet raspberry sauce. It had all the heat and flake of a perfect pie.

FOM tried a tender plank of grilled marlin, simple and fresh. Munch, stomach groaning, packed in most of a good burger.

Dessert, chocolate cake from a mediocre bakery, was skip-able. The sweet was a stack of stiff layers and too-sweet frosting with a sugary grit. Oh well. You don't go to City Grill for chocolate cake.

City Grill has a small but interesting list of wines by the glass, the usual beers on tap, some microbrews by the bottle and a fully stocked bar of vodka, Jagermeister and scotch, ensuring that you'll find something you want to drink. The bar is not a twentysomething South Side stomping ground, thank goodness. It's lined with a post-theater crowd sipping pinot noir, raccoon-eyed regulars and cabbies tossing back a cold one after their shift. It's a wacky, informative mix that lends itself easily to eavesdropping.

Warm and inviting, with modest ambition, City Grill is Pittsburgh personified. Munch's friends were right.