Mike's

What in the world happened to Mike's?

The orange Formica booths and plastic swivel seats are gone, replaced by attractive tables and chairs. The 1970s decor has been swapped for plasma televisions and trendy fold-out windows. A classy granite bar serves wine and margaritas.

It's true: After 28 years of slinging pizzas, pastas, subs, and calzones, this granddaddy of Davis Square has given itself a facelift.

"If you're going to stay in business, there comes a time you have to put some money back in the place," explains Sicilian-born Ray Terranova, who bought Mike's with his brother in 1980 (it opened the previous year under different ownership) and now runs it with his wife and daughter. "It's like a house. You live in a house so many years, you've got to spend some money on it."

Mike's is one of the busiest restaurants in the square. It owes much of its popularity to a primo location on a six-street intersection with heavy pedestrian traffic. It also makes a killing on pizza; Terranova says he sells up to 700 pies a week, a quarter of his sales. (Take note, deal hunters: on Mondays, buy one pizza and get one free.) And it benefits from a curiously cross-generational clientele: college kids, families with young children, middle-age customers eating alone, lots of of elderly patrons.

But here's the thing that puzzles me about Mike's: The food is pretty ordinary.

Sure, salmon fra diavolo ($9.95), a fresh-tasting fish in spicy marinara, is enjoyable, and sweet chicken marsala ($11.95), loaded with ham and mushrooms, is good enough that I'd order it again. The tasty calzones, baked golden-brown, have lovely crimped edges; the greens in the chicken and broccoli with ziti ($8.95) have nice crunch; the specialty pastas (from Lilly's in Everett) have chewy, homemade taste; and veal Francese ($12.95) comes with delicious artichoke hearts and a vibrant, lemony white wine-butter sauce.

But the soups are bland, the swordfish dry, the eggplant parmigiana mushy, the garlic bread not that garlicky, the pizza nothing special. Salads are no fancier than iceberg lettuce with canned black olives, red onions, cukes, and tasteless tomatoes; although antipasto ($6.50/$7.75) contains enough tuna to qualify as a meal. The tiny scallops, served over fettuccine in garlic and white wine ($8.95), are pleasantly sweet but too few.

So what's the allure? In many ways, the restaurant's appeal is obvious. It's open late; portions are generous; service is brusque but fast; drinks are cheap; food is relatively inexpensive; and because there's no table service, you don't pay a tip.

Still, I conducted a micro-poll to figure out why Mike's is usually mobbed. The results: One of my dining companions noted the freshness of the ingredients. She's right. I've never seen so much as a wilted leaf of lettuce. "You're getting fresh food," she said, "not something that's been in a container for three days."

"Better than a dining hall," offered a friend, referencing the flocks of Tufts students. Thinking back to my own college cafeteria, I think she's got a point.

But the person who really captured the essence of Mike's was a neighbor who sometimes takes his teenage son there after evening hockey practices. "It's good, decent food," he said, "and it's a really good bang for the buck."

Well put. Mike's may be ordinary, but its ordinariness grows on you, and the price is right.

"It's not a fancy place," acknowledges Terranova. "It's busy, but not fancy. You have a glass of wine, you have a pizza, you spend 10, 15, 20 dollars. You know what I'm saying? With 10 dollars, you can eat."