It's the only way to explain why every red-gravy joint on the East Coast has a shrine to the man, from the portraits of a fedora-topped young Frank to the endlessly looped soundtrack of his crooner hits that are as ubiquitous as little shakers of grated parmesan cheese.

The Sinatra schtick gets personal, though, when it comes to Patsy's, the 64-year-old Manhattan landmark that was Sinatra's favorite Italian restaurant. Sal Scognamillo, Patsy's third-generation owner, got permission from the Sinatra family to use that claim, and boy, Ol' Blue Eyes, has he indulged. It was a marketing boon for the restaurant's cookbook and jarred supermarket sauces. And the tout has recently been blaring from local billboards to promote the opening of Patsy's first offshoot, in the Atlantic City Hilton casino.

Considering that this Hilton used to be the Golden Nugget, where Sinatra was a regular, the marriage would seem ideal. But the elderly lady waiting in line at the new Patsy's wasn't buying it.

"I'm not going to eat here just because Frank did," she grumbled. "I liked the old place here, Caruso's."

Indeed, Caruso's had a good run for nearly two decades. But it wasn't the kind of name-brand eatery that marks the new generation of casino restaurant, said A.C. Hilton president Tony Rodio. A legend like Patsy's, he said, can draw the coveted New York-North Jersey crowd.

But is Patsy's their best bet for serious pasta at the beach? After all, you can have a "Big Night" meal virtually every night down the Shore, where there are literally hundreds of Italian restaurants serving every shade of tomato gravy. That includes two other notable newcomers on Long Beach Island and in Ventnor. And there are formidable oldies to consider, too, including a 12-table (almost) secret cellar in Atlantic City, and an aging roadhouse on the Black Horse Pike that boldly claims to serve the "World's Best Spaghetti."

Is that even possible? I had to know.

Patsy's

In the spectrum of name brands that have corrupted the tradition of Italian American cooking, Patsy's is thankfully still a long way away from the fakery of Olive Garden or Buca di Beppo.

True, the Atlantic City branch reheats bulk sauces from the plant that bottles its supermarket products. But someone was clearly in the kitchen really finishing the job - on our night, the ebullient Sal Scognamillo himself. And frankly, the sauces were pretty good.

Chunky tomatoes bolstered with wine, clam juice and herbs cloaked the huge butterflied shrimp marinara. Fresh veal stock deepened the anchovy-tinged broth beneath the deep-fried cubes of layered bread and mozzarella called spiedino alla Romana. Tenderly broiled littleneck clams arreganata were topped with a garlicky crust of oregano and bread crumbs. Notably tender veal meatballs soaked in a zesty Neapolitan pizzaiola.

We popped in just a week after Patsy's opening. And there were still some problems to address. The fried zucchini were limp. The chicken parm was chewy. The ravioli were crunchy on the edges. And my $40 veal chop Sicilian was overcooked and buried in garlic.

This wasn't bad food, per se. But I've had these dishes a hundred times, better prepared and considerably cheaper. And outside the context of their original address, they are a stark reminder that restaurants like Patsy's are famous not because the food is distinctive, but because their spaces exude a patina of history. The people and place itself are the secret seasoning.

Stripped of that character in the Hilton, Patsy's new casino version feels sterile. The space has a swanky entryway bar, but the big, open dining room feels like a hotel banquet room dressed up in framed copies of a hundred old celebrity photos. Perhaps it's just a matter of time before the image of jolly Sal Scognamillo bounding through this carpeted casino room is as natural as if he were hustling across the 56th Street terrazzo.

But so far, the only reassuring note is that voice, on endless loop, crooning through the air.

Red Room Cafe

If there's one new Italian restaurant near Atlantic City already worth visiting this summer, it would be the hopping new Red Room Cafe in Ventnor owned by Robert Conti. Set near the Dorset Avenue bridge, Conti's corner space bustles with a vibrant, local crowd. The warm red decor is sophisticated, without being stuffy, and deliberately avoids the Sinatra kitsch.

"No Sinatra here," insists Conti. "We want to be different."

Instead, Conti's stable of racehorses get full exposure, including "Bobby Blue Eyes," who won at Churchill Downs this spring, and my sentimental favorite, "Spice E. Meatball," photographed in full gallop last summer at Philadelphia Park.