Apostles of the Roman kitchen would be justifiably excited to find a restaurant named Quinto Quarto, a butchering term that refers to an animal’s fifth quarter—that is, its offal—and the Eternal City’s devotion to eating it. And they would be rightly disappointed, as we were, to find not a single dish with innards on the entire menu. False advertising aside, the place conveys an air of authenticity: Rustic wood tables, aged-brick archways and the romantic glow of candlelight create a space that could easily fit in across the Atlantic. If only the food completed the experience. A bowl of chickpea soup was so bland that we wondered if it contained even a lone grain of salt. More problems followed with the bucatini all’amatriciana, one of Rome’s famed pasta dishes. The overly abundant sauce was dominated by tomato, with scarce bits of guanciale and hardly a trace of hot pepper, both of which should be defining elements. An entre of braised rabbit was the highlight, featuring tender meat in an earthy tomato sauce flavored with sage and marjoram. The classic roasted baby lamb, however, presented cubes of meat that were mostly dry. Desserts failed to uplift the meal—both a chocolate-and-apple torte and a raspberry crostata were encased in stale pastry—and increasingly inattentive service compounded our disappointment further. Overlooking the fifth quarter is a forgivable offense; overlooking almost everything else is not.