Being popular is generally considered a good thing, especially in reference to a restaurant —it usually means someone is doing something right. But in the case of Le Petit Castor (The Little Beaver), it just means one thing: they sure can pack ’em in.

Other than being a beautifully transformed room (the former site of Thai Magic) or hiring a manager with front-of-the-house finesse with a capital “F,” there are few compelling reasons to hit Rosedale’s newest gastro-pub. So it’s curious that finding a spot among the boîte’s 85 seats is next to impossible.

Having a boat-load of BFFs will do that. Not to mention hosting a private party attended by many of Toronto’s media mavens and fashion plates a week after opening. But who is owner Luke McCann and why does he seem to have all the right connections? The one-time journalist certainly knows how to schmooze, moving from table to table as well-heeled patrons mingle and munch beneath nifty belt-and-pulley ceiling fans.

McCann wanders about the room charming patrons with his boyish charisma, helping to give off the English local feel he tells us he’s going for. But all the charisma and atmo in the world can’t make up for the confusing comestibles coming out of Castor’s kitchen — especially given the pretensions the carte they’re sporting suggests.

A chicken schnitzel ($23), for example, carries a price tag way outta whack for this classic Hungarian student staple. Good it may be, loaded with a hillock of green beans and well-executed warmed pickled beets. But bang for the buck? Uh-uh. A fork-tender beef brisket adds depth to a standard mac and cheese ($12), its slow roasted juices seeping into the pasta below. But a too-thin, acrid cheese sauce on the macaroni needs to be rethought before we’d call it a comfort food of any kind.

And if you’re going to go around putting on über-pub airs, you better be able to nail basics like wings. The only thing five dry, horseradish-battered chicken drummettes ($11) manage to nail is our wallets (typically, pubs serve eight to nine pieces ranging in price from $8 to $10). Even Devils on Horseback (a.k.a. blue-cheese stuffed plums wrapped in double-smoked bacon), disappoint, their salty nuggets delivered in a pool of grease with distressingly molten cores and an overall texture that is more jaw-wrenchingly crewy than delightfully crispy.

But certain items show glimmers of salvation. A loosely packed, slightly over-cooked burger ($15), with bacon, cucumber-mayo and a slathering of tangy melted cheddar, is a definite showstopper. Given its mixed breeding — which includes Angus among other beefs — they could call it the “Mutt” burger. Plus the kitchen gets full points for an addictive lobster poutine ($16), loads of succulent claw meat smothered beneath a thick blanket of ooey-gooey aged cheddar and a Bernaise soaking. (It should be slapped with a Health Canada warning label: having this too often will kill you).

In sum, the white coats need to step it up pronto. McCann envisioned the place as being a sort of neighbourhood hub, as a spot where the well-heeled locals might slum it in style to kick back and relax over a couple of pints and some good food after work. But friends can only take a business so far, and from what we know about the natives in this tawny berg, they ain’t the sort of folk to suffer over-priced mediocrity for long.