Inside the blacked-out, speak-easy-like glass door, a muraled corridor leads to a low-ceiling, cavernous room that's reminiscent of a cellar. And that's the point. This IS, after all, a wine bar.

Formaggio is a fun, unpretentious and laid back place that owners Wes Zane and Almar Arcano have turned into a virtual wine tasting room, less the oak barrels and aluminum spittoon.

Young and old, and groups from two to eight people occupied the tables. Conversation flowed, and so did the wines.

G.B. started with a two-ounce splash of 2001 Matanzas Creek Syrah ($3.50), a slightly fruity wine that's balanced with an aromatic nose of cedar and pepper.

Meanwhile, I opted for a glass of the 2002 Cartlidge and Brown Pinot Noir ($5.50), which possessed a light cinnabar color that translucently reflected through the glass. This unoffensive vintage was a great find and a bargain for the six-ounce pour.

Before I continue, let's get this straight. You don't have to be a wine afficionado or know much about wines to enjoy Formaggio. What you must be willing to do, however, is explore the different varieties and choose one — or two — that appeals to your nose and palate.

Staff members here are friendly and will readily make recommendations based on guests' answers to the following questions: Do you want something full-bodied or light? Fruity or spicy? White or red? Floral or smoky?

Of course, they're suggestions will also be based on the type of pupu you may want to order.

G. B. and I aptly started with the natural choice — Formaggio's house-special cheese platter ($14.50). My pinot and G.B.'s syrah nicely complemented the Port Salut brie, fresh goat cheese, and the Boursin that was speckled and sweetened with raisins. (Cheese selections will vary.)

The platter also came with grapes, Spanish almonds, strawberries, two slices of Grecian fig and a warm basket of crunchy imported La Brea bread, which I could have easily eaten sans cheese or fruit. For $1.75 more, I couldn't resist splurging on another half baguette.

In deciding our next tasting, our waiter Joshua reminded us about one of the evening's specials: a Mediterranean-inspired ahi tartare (market price) that was spiked with hints of wasabi and capers. We dug into the mound of cubed, sashimi-grade tuna, and washed it down with our remaining drops of wine.

Slightly chilled still from the dreary winter-like weather, we wanted something a little warmer to soothe the soul.

G.B. ordered the escargots ($10.95), which were drenched in a classic French sauce of herbed-garlic butter and Roquefort cheese, and blanketed with puff pastry. We used the remaining slices of the extra half baguette to sop up that rich butter-and-cheese sauce.

I chose one of my all-time favorites and my panacea to winter chills, a bowl of French onion soup gratinee ($6.50). (If this didn't warm me up, I'd have to go straight to my other trusty remedy, Remy Martin!)

But, as it turns out, each ladleful of broth, gooey Gruyere cheese and pieces of bread did do the trick. The soup had a smoky quality — a trait absent among other similar soups — which came from the grilled bread.