Tremont, which opened early this summer among the posh townhouses and boutiques down on Bank Street, is one of those small, slightly self-conscious West Village restaurants that, on first inspection, look almost too polished and twee for their own good. The storefront façade is painted in a neat white trim, and the windows are covered in discreet wooden shades. The fifteen or so small café tables inside the snug, suspiciously spotless dining room are divided by partitions made of carefully painted, Hamptons-style white wainscoting. The cozy, ten-seat dining bar in the middle of the room is fitted with little hooks on which to hang your shopping bags, and the walls are hung (one of my jaded, fashion-minded guests observed) with the kind of summery, pleasantly inoffensive paintings and prints that you’d see in the tastefully redesigned vacation home of a midlevel banker.
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