Consider how wrong this could go. You're on a grand avenue in one of Boston's flushest enclaves, eating in a restaurant styled after a working man's bacaro — the hideaway bars that pepper the alleys of Venice — waiting for a stream of cicchetti (bite-size Venetian tapas) as conceived by two New England natives, surrounded by beautiful people in a cloud of vintage '90s hip-hop.

Yes, prepare to cut into your canonical vitello tonnato to the pulse of Del the Funky Homosapien. Or: Could someone please hurl me off this postmodern train before it derails? I mean, shouldn't our little Disney trip into an underrepresented regional cuisine and one of the South End's latest hot spots — SRV, shorthand for the Most Serene Republic of Venice, emphasis on Serenissima, that city's nickname since year 697 — come stocked with Carnevale masks, Paolo Conte crooning, and smartly turned-out folks in Ferragamo?

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Source: http://www.bostonglobe.com/