On the surface, Mark McEwan has nailed the urban trattoria. Indie bands provide the soundtrack, slabs of prosciutto double as decor, and Neapolitan pizzas are wood-fired in an open kitchen. Some dishes, like a superb ricotta polenta with pig’s tail, are on par with the city’s best boot-based offerings, and a beautifully charred smoked bacon chop demonstrates the kitchen’s technical proficiency. But on the whole, Fabbrica feels like a simulacrum, a corporate product lacking the soul of its downtown inspirations. Sometimes it doesn’t even get the details right: a $21 meatball pizza is more Pizza Pizza than Libretto, complete with ketchupy tomato sauce (although the crust is wonderful).