Whoever renamed the Grove Isle restaurant Gibraltar must have had some pretty high expectations. After all, the tiny territory off the southern tip of the Iberian peninsula was said to have been one of the two pillars formed by Hercules. And while the place is not exactly offering up an experience fit for the gods, the stunning private island is now supporting some of the best cooking it has had in years.

The former Baleen, which languished after the departure of Robbin Haas, is a surprising gig for a chef who has cooked at such New York culinary temples as Aureole, Restaurant Daniel and Le Bernardin as well as Palm Beach's award-winning L'Escalier at The Breakers and, most recently, for The Trump family.

There's no question Jeff O'Neill does tasty and inventive things with seafood -- his tiny black mussels, for example, are steamed in coconut broth freshened by loads of coriander, mint, juicy tomatoes and a drizzle of lobster oil. Likewise, pristine crudo of glistening king coho salmon with shaved pink radish and bits of lemony cucumber perks up even the most jaded palate.

O'Neill's skill lies not only in pairing disparate textures in ways that make flavors pop but also in sourcing ingredients. One of his signature dishes pairs fleshy local black grouper with earthy veal cheeks in a vibrant Benedictine sauce alongside nicely charred sticks of polenta and bright-as-a-spring-morning pea shoots.

Another, a hot smoked salmon loin with sweet corn beignets and a peppy mustard seed crust, shows he can coax maximum flavor from basic foodstuffs. I am skeptical of Florida chefs who use mangoes months before the local harvest, as O'Neill does in several dishes, but I'll let that one slide.

For the meat and potatoes crowd, a well-executed 14-ounce prime strip comes with some of the butteriest whipped spuds I've had lately and a nice arrangement of peas and carrots in a rich cabernet reduction. Pastas, including hand-rolled garganelli and puffy pumpkin tortellini, are also impressive. One of the few flops besides stale pretzel bread was a farro studded with pithy lemon that made it more bitter than bright.

The real problem was that most of the dishes on my three visits arrived cold. The staff went missing often, delivered the wrong dishes and got stuck on basic descriptions.

These chirpy, well-groomed automatons reinforce the unfortunate, hotel dining-room vibe of the place. One server told us her name so many times I wanted to bump her to see if she'd stop skipping like a broken record. After all, I could easily read her shiny gold nametag, even in the laughably dark dining room. (No, I don't think a flashlight ought to be required to read the menu.)

Desserts, though mostly tasty, sound better than they are. A malva pudding -- slivers of spicy sponge cake torched with a brulee crust alongside gingersnap ice cream -- was too sweet, and Key lime pie lacked the tart bite I craved. Coffee, was, guess what? Cold and murky, to boot.

A young wine list of mostly American grocery store labels such as St. Supery and Kenwood, along with a few trophy bottles from Tuscany and Bordeaux, is marked up three to four times retail.

Though the handsome dining room has benefited from a million-dollar redo that includes stone gray leather upholstery, sparkling chandeliers (no longer adorned with monkeys), the best seats are outdoors overlooking the bay. The romantic, tiki-lit setting really does steal hearts.

Some of the food could win over even those immune to romantic settings, but until the service improves dramatically, a meal here can be a bit rocky.