Restaurants

The other night on the phone, my mother and I played the restaurant version of "Who's on First."

Mom: "Where are you eating tonight?"

Me: "Blind Pig Bistro."

"Fine pig?"

"Blind Pig."

"Brined pig?"

"Blind Pig. Can't see."

"Where are you eating tonight?"

The peculiar name suits this quirky restaurant in a funky Eastlake strip mall, a location revered by eaters-in-the-know as the original home of Sitka & Spruce, then all too briefly Nettletown. The tiny storefront (just 22 seats) is now in the hands of Charles Walpole, a chef who secured his own reputation cooking at other people's restaurants: notably William Belickis' original Mistral and, most recently, Ethan Stowell's Anchovies & Olives.

This distinguished lineage raised expectations that were dashed on an early visit, back in December, when I encountered burnt vegetables, uninspired crudo and listless service. But after two recent visits three months into what I hope will be a long run, Walpole's Blind Pig Bistro has me in its spell.

The chalkboard menu is mounted on walls as red as a matador's cape. (It's posted nightly on Twitter and Facebook as well.) The 16 or so items change at the kitchen's whim. Several plates come in two sizes — a commendable concept. Order at your whim, or let Walpole design a "chef's choice" tasting menu of three courses for $30 or five for $50 per person.

There are some dishes I hope never get erased from the board, beginning with a raw Fat Bastard oyster sprinkled with icy granules of grapefruit and pimenton that impart a smoky shiver to the briny liqueur in its deeply cupped shell.

Hamachi crudo is another keeper. Serrano chilies put some sizzle in cubed raw fish, diced apple and chopped chives, each ingredient cut with such precision they looked like a cache of gemstones in the palm of avocado purée. More virtuoso knife skills reduced celery root to crunchy matchstick batons that frolicked in brisk vinaigrette with sweet sultanas and chives.

Walpole makes imaginative use of winter produce. Roasted kale and radish bulk up fluffy quinoa: a cool salad with a warm poached-egg topper and the salty crunch of fried capers in every compelling bite. Golden beets, blood oranges, sorrel and fennel deliver sweet, acid, grass and crunch in splendid unison.

He's not afraid of bold flavors and mostly doesn't let them run amok. Cauliflower joins Treviso marinated in balsamic and honey to play bitter/sweet counterpoint to crisp-edged pork belly. Brussels sprouts, currants, pine nuts and anchovy sing strong backup for a gorgeous hunk of sturgeon. Smoky charred eggplant pureé thrums a complex bass line, while sliced flat-iron steak and black trumpet mushrooms play tenor.

Not everything was as rosy as those slices of steak. I couldn't find much to like about chewy duck breast in a bitter mole sauce. A stiff and stodgy pork-liver pâté accompanied that amazing celery root salad. Rounds of pickled Delicata squash rescued pork rillettes from utter blandness. A jumble of squid, escarole and potatoes suffered from too much garlic, not enough mint and broken aioli.

Blind Pig's name derives from 19th-century slang for a dive that illegally dispensed liquor under the guise of promoting animal attractions. But the booze here is legit; a short, smart list of wine and beer, plus simple cocktails. Those are mixed by experienced servers who help smooth the restaurant's hipster edge. Observant, but not intrusive, they roll with erratic ordering, swiftly replaced a sputtering candle, and gave the glossy wood tabletop a much needed wipe before delivering dessert: poached pineapple with vanilla panna cotta that was smooth and satisfying, if a little too jiggly.

There are no animal acts either, just a furry boar's head mounted above shelves handsomely arrayed with books and bibelots. His benign gaze falls on a sedate clientele of avid eaters glad that this unpretentious spot remains a destination for seriously creative cuisine.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com