Thankfully, you can switch between the bottomless cocktail offerings; less thankfully, this doesn't really matter, since Nero never quite found the balance between a nearly undrinkably spirit-forward Tequila Sunrise and a mimosa with just the merest hint of champagne.

Nero might be a lovely wine bar, with self-dispensing wine machines that certainly piqued our interest, but we wonder if they forgot they're also a restaurant. (And no, we don't just mean that metaphorically — they actually forgot one of our entrées.). Most distressingly, the breakfast pizza showed up missing its prosciutto, and judging by the soggy, suspiciously freezer-burned crust, we're pretty sure it made the trip straight from a nearby grocery store's frozen section.

Our server was genuinely lovely and did what she could to smooth things over — shoutout to the solo plate of belated prosciutto — but we're still feeling a bit crispy about those $7 sides of fries. A heads-up that the sandwiches already came with them would've been nice, especially given the menu's mysterious lack of guidance.

The upstairs leans into that cozy, exposed-brick charm you know we know and love — but when you're the only group in sight, it starts to feel less like intimate dining and more like eating in a very empty attic.