What would you expect from a restaurant whose name calls to mind sun and sand, fresh seafood and tropical fruit? Burritos and pasta, of course.

That's right, Waikiki hands out two menus. One features Tex-Mex favorites along with a few "Southwestern" twists; the other, a series of Italian dishes, interrupted here and there by the odd international selection.

So, concept and menu — ne'er the twain shall meet. Yet after a bemused moment, the gap between Waikiki and its disjointed lists doesn't really matter. The curious juxtaposition allows guests freedom to mix and match. Start with gnocchi, then follow with enchiladas, perhaps. Pick at chips and salsa before chowing down on spaghetti. Better still, pair something traditional with one of the restaurant's own creations.

On two recent visits I did just that, one time ordering caprese and a sizzling platter called "Desperado." The salad arrives as twin towers of alternating tomato and a milky, almost sweet mozzarella that proves surprisingly compelling. On the downside, it comes with a ramekin of brutally stinging and potently sour balsamic, evidently the result of some science project gone awry. Fortunately, this beast is served on the side, mitigating its interference with otherwise clean flavors.

With salsa there's no right or wrong, of course. As long as a restaurant uses fresh ingredients, a little pendulum effect from one day to the next simply means the kitchen avoided the trap of precise commercial repetition. The first was on the thin side and lacked the usual depth, that's all.

Skewers of chicken rolled around ham slices proved to be the only real disappointment. Listed somewhat exotically on the menu as "spidieno Pampeago," the dish is similar to pedestrian backyard favorites served at so many family reunions in the U.S. Midwest. Lackluster chicken falls under the sway of its smoky, thin-sliced partner — which is fine, considering the ham works well with cracked black pepper meant to spice up the white meat. The sauce, billed as cheese with basil, smacks more of pungent garlic than leafy herbs. It's the sort of thing you'd expect on a Denny's menu, though admittedly prepared with more charisma.

In a previous life, the space that is Waikiki suffered from a want of charisma. A year or so ago, new owners spruced up the patio, built an interior wrap-around deck, splashed burnt orange on the walls and concocted the whimsical Hawaii-Texas-Italy connection. It's a fun scheme.