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Though this midtown eatery is intended to resemble a ski lodge—with rough-hewn walls, a fake roaring fire and rows of towering birches behind back-lit glass walls—it doesn’t quite conjure postslope warmth. Maybe it’s the waitresses in hot pants and wobbly stilettos. Or it could just be the food. Retro artichoke dip was off-puttingly oily, and the sesame dressing on a tuna tartare completely overwhelmed its avocado base. Dessert was more successful: A silken dark-chocolate fondue very nearly delivered a Rocky Mountain high.