Starting a chowder trend in Park Slope

833 Union St., near Seventh Ave., (718) 857-8828. Mon.-Thur., 5 p.m.-10 p.m.; Fri & Sat., 5 p.m.-10:30 p.m.

CUISINE: Contemporary American
VIBE: Domesticated firehouse
OCCASION: Casual date, group dinner
DON'T-MISS DISH: Crab chowder, sweet potato tortellini, Greek yogurt cheesecake
AVERAGE PRICE: Appetizers, $10; entrees, $21; dessert, $7
RESERVATIONS: Accepted

Eating the crab chowder at Bussaco makes me wonder why chowder isn't more popular. Was there a chowder trend? Did I miss it? Why don't we have one now? After all, it's a good time for one. The economy sucks and the weather is starting to suck, too.

Just imagine - a cold evening, a warm restaurant and a hot bowl of chowder, the white not the red. And what makes it even cozier is that you're seated in a roomy banquette at Bussaco, a converted firehouse in Park Slope. Bussaco's chowder is not your average bowl of chowder. It's fancy.

That's what you get when a chef who trained at Le Bernardin makes chowder. It's got tons of sweet, fresh blue crab meat. Most chefs use flour to thicken the broth. Not Matthew Schaefer. His chowder is more of a creamy consommé made with celery, chives, shallots, bacon and potatoes.

Instead of oyster crackers, he serves tapioca chips dusted in Old Bay seasoning. The crab chowder is all you need to order. Not that it's the only thing worth ordering at Bussaco.

What makes this menu interesting is that Schaefer serves only food that he really likes to eat - Mom's sauerkraut, homemade gravlax, Yorkshire pudding and fried chicken. If you can't make it to Roscoe's Chicken n' Waffles in Los Angeles, try the fried chicken and waffles at Bussaco, also one of Schaefer's favorite dishes. His version is poussin - baby chicken - and vanilla-scented waffles topped with caramelized apple-onion butter.

It's likely to be one of your favorite dishes, too. So is "the freshest mozzarella." It isn't really mozzarella until you ask for it. After you order, Schaefer drops curds into hot, salted water and out comes "the freshest mozzarella." And then, he turns it into an autumn cheese plate by adding diced delicata squash, candied pecans and sweet dumpling squash puree.

There are a few dishes on the menu that I'd stay away from. The pastrami duck breast came out practically uncooked and unpastrami-ed. The slow roast pork and crispy pork cracklings tasted like unbarbecued barbecue - no sauce, no flavor, really.

I really hope Bussaco can grow into this wonderful room, which manages to be elegant without being fussy. The tables are generously spaced - you have room to eat, room to think, room to talk.

One thing's for sure: This is a Brooklyn-centric restaurant. The long, communal table in the bar is made from an oak that once grew in Prospect Park, the coffee comes from Beford-Stuyvesant, the ale comes from Red Hook, and the chef and the pastry chef come from the borough, too.

The pastry chef's name is Deborah Snyder, who learned her trade at Judson Grill. There's a wonderful maple crème caramel that tastes just like crème brulée without the burnt sugar top.

Refreshing and light aren't words you associate with cheesecake. Except here. Snyder makes a Greek yogurt cheesecake, flecked with vanilla and a perfect finish to a bowl of chowder.

Hard times call for hard liquor. And Southern cooking at Char No. 4.

196 Smith St., between Baltic & Warren Sts.; (718) 643-2106.

Sun.-Thurs., 6 p.m.-midnight; Fri.-Sat., 6 p.m.-1 a.m.

CUISINE: Southern comfort food
VIBE: Hip house of whisky
OCCASION: Destination dining, group dinner
DON'T-MISS DISH: Crispy cheddar curds, sage pork sausage, smoked honey glazed chicken
AVERAGE PRICE: Appetizers, $8; entrées, $16; dessert, $9
RESERVATIONS: Accepted

How many bourbons can you name? Do you know the difference between rye and Scotch? Is there really a Scotch named Compass Box Vatted Grain Hedonism? For the answers to these questions, visit Char No. 4 on Smith St. in Brooklyn.

Be prepared to drink. A lot.

I thought I knew a thing or two about bourbon until I sat at the bar.

It's a glowing shrine to all grains distilled and barrel-aged. The walnut shelves are lined with obscure bottles - a Black Wax wheated bourbon from Maker's Mark made exclusively for the Japanese market, a Hirsch 22 Rye, and a Classic Cask 15 Year traditional mash-bill bourbon that costs $100 an ounce.

Each bottle rests on a tiny white light that illuminates the liquid within. If after a few glasses the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling begin to look like barrels, it's not because you're drunk. "Each one is the exact dimensions of a standard American oak barrel," Michael Tsoumpas says, "36 inches high, 24 inches wide."

He's the co-owner of Char No. 4 and the obsessive genius behind what is, after all, an interactive whisky museum in Carroll Gardens. When you drink at the bar, you're drinking from Tsoumpas' personal collection.

There are more than 300 bottles to choose from, nearly half of them American whiskies. "Think of whisky as a genus," Tsoumpas explains. "Bourbon is just a species of whisky. So is Scotch and rye."

I liked his explanation, but me, I'm more of a hands-on learner. I had never tasted a Suntory 12 Year, a Japanese whisky, before the bartender steered me to it. It's smoky, spicy, sweet, smooth and only $6 an ounce. The Georgia Moon - a corn whisky aged less than 30 days and bottled in a Mason jar - tastes like sweet vodka. Not bad for $3 an ounce.

When times are tough, drink cheap whisky. There is an alternative theory: When times are tough, drink the best whisky you can afford.

You're going to need a little food to soak up all that alcohol. The chef at Char No. 4 is Matt Greco, a Texan who was the sous chef at Café Gray and A Voce. His Southern-inflected menu is as serious as the whisky list. He cures his own bacon in-house and serves it over black eyed peas, roasted red peppers and pearl onions.

Lots of chefs make their own pork sausage. But what Greco does with his is wonderful. (I want you to think with your tongue here.) Snappy casing, aromatic sage, plump filling, Swiss chard sautéed with onion purée and prunes, and the whole thing finished with fresh scallions and bits of fried pork skin - Southern comfort food with a sophisticated, urban spin. (By the way, Southern Comfort isn't whisky. It's a liqueur.)

What Greco is thinking about isn't just flavor, it's texture. That's why he uses panko to coat his deep-fried cheddar curds - "the best fried cheese ever," said a friend. And what about the house-cured lamb pastrami with pickled onion and coriander aioli? Or the grits mixed with rock shrimp, dried sweet corn, garlic and nutmeg? His roasted chicken is irresistible - lacquered in caramel, honey and malt vinegar.

Not a whisky drinker?

Char No. 4 might make you one.

La Superior

295 Berry St., near S. Second St., Brooklyn, (718) 388-5988. Mon.-Thu. 12:30 p.m.-midnight, Fri.-Sun, 12:30 p.m. - 2 a.m.

Cuisine: Mexican street food
Vibe: Dingy taqueria
Occasion: Destination dining
Don't miss dish: Mushroom quesadillas, enchiladas suizas
Average price: Appetizers, $4; entries $10.
Reservations: No reservations, cash only, BYOB.

To say La Superior is understated is an understatement. "Do you think this is it?" a friend said nervously. We were standing outside a dingy storefront on an empty street in Williamsburg. "It must be," I answered cheerily. "I need a cocktail," she grumbled as she followed me through the door.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that the restaurant doesn't have a liquor license. The dining room at La Superior looks like a diner on its last legs. The table settings are disposable - red and blue plastic plates, flimsy plastic cups, and supermarket napkins in plastic napkin holders that might've been stolen from a Midwest Sunday dinner.

Our waiter Danny - who is also the bartender - handed us two menus. "This is the real one and that's a photocopy," he grumbled. "We had problems with the printer." Both were illegible, salsa-stained sheets of paper. The only words we could make out were guacamole, tacos and calle - in other words, street food. Luckily, that's all you need to know.

We started with the guacamole. What most restaurants serve has no more taste than green sour cream. But this is more like avocado ceviche - diced onions and tomatoes, cilantro, and Haas avocados from Michoacán, Mexico. It tasted unbelievably fresh, as if it had been made two seconds before it reached the table.

The tortilla chips are just as good. And the quesadilla might be the best five bucks you can spend on food. Especially the mushroom quesadilla crowned with a flurry of Oaxaca cheese and Mexican crema. I ordered the enchiladas suizas - so-called because the topping supposedly looks like the Swiss Alps. It really resembles gentle swells in a tomatillo sea and it tastes like the Mexican equivalent of béchamel sauce.

The pork taco isn't as simple as it sounds. It's actually pork confit accented with a hint of orange. The shrimp tacos are ablaze in a fiery chipotle sauce. I advise pairing either of these with the cactus tacos, which are filled coarse, cool pieces of nopal cactus topped with aged cheese. La Superior also serves an off-the-cob side of corn in a plastic cup - a savory parfait layered with Oaxaca cheese and homemade mayonnaise.

For now, bring your own tequila. Danny will mix it with agua de limo - made with boiled limes, skin and all - or a berry red juice made from prickly pear. This is sublime Mexican street food with the luxury of a roof and a scattering of small tables.

The General Greene

229 DeKalb Ave., near Clermont Ave., Brooklyn, (718) 222-1510.
5 p.m.-11 p.m., Thu., 5 p.m.-midnight, Fri-Sat., 5 p.m.-1 a.m., Closed Mond.
Cuisine: New American
Vibe: Lively neighborhood haunt
Occasion: Casual bite
Don't miss dish: Radishes with sea salt and anchovies, chocolate chip cookies.
Average price: Appetizers, $6; entrees, $10; dessert, $7.
Reservations: Accepted for six or more.

The General Greene in Fort Greene is nearly as budget-friendly as La Superior. But the food's not nearly as good. Never mind the crowd waiting to get in. They don't know what they're waiting for.

Dishes come out of the kitchen helter skelter, all at once - as if the servers had somewhere better to be. It's a small-plate menu that provides no structure for the meal. The appetizers could be entrees. The entrees could be hors d'oeuvres. Some food is well-prepared, like radishes with sea salt and chopped anchovies.

But some is downright dangerous. The red mullet is so bony it should've come with a warning label. The grilled shrimp are so overcooked they became one with their shells. Perhaps the best thing on the menu is the chocolate chip cookies, which have a surprisingly salty crunch. Order one as an appetizer.

605 Carlton Ave., at St. Marks Ave., Brooklyn (718) 942-4255
Tues.-Sun., 5:30 p.m.-midnight; Fri.-Sat., 5:30-1a.m; closed Mondays.
CUISINE Modern American cuisine
VIBE Romantic neighborhood haunt
OCCASION Intimate date; neighborhood dining
DON’T MISS DISH Spinach salad; seared diver scallops; lemon almond pound cake
PRICE Appetizers, $8-$12; entrees, $14-$29; dessert, $8-$10
RESERVATIONS For parties of six or more

It's 1 a.m., do you know where your chef is? If you're a regular at James you do. He's on the roof in his garden, among his herbs, weeding, watering, unwinding. It's the end of a long night in the kitchen at the corner of 605 Carlton Ave. and St. Marks Avenue in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn.

Bryan Calvert, the chef, has a short commute. He lives just above the restaurant and just beneath his rooftop garden - 600 square feet of mint, sage, rosemary, thyme, chamomile, oregano, lovage, lavender and basil. Sooner or later, they make their way downstairs. Some go to the oven, to the grill, into the drinks, and others simply perfume the room.

In other restaurants, such a wealth of herbs could mean a plateful of shrubs, a culinary potpourri. But in Calvert's kitchen, each herb plays the part he assigns it. The rosemary never upstages the lamb. The lovage never outshines the potatoes

Calvert's a talented young chef. He worked at Union Pacific and Bouley before becoming a private chef for Annie Liebovitz. But at James, he's created a genuine, neighborhood restaurant.

This doesn't necessarily mean the food is modest. I adored several things on the menu. The sautéed skate is elegant, a golden fan that conceals perfectly lovaged potatoes surrounded by a tangy caper and sherry sauce. There's no better canvas for fresh herbs than a blank chicken. And the roast chicken at James is a minor masterpiece, crispy, tinged with lemon thyme served over couscous.

Let me say a word in praise of the shrimp - or really in praise of the sunchoke puree beneath them. I could've eaten the puree without the shrimp. It was nutty, sweet, and it had taken a hint from the garlic confit. And that spinach salad - it was an anthology of textures. Chewy nubs of roasted, marinated shiitake mushrooms, toasted pine nuts, and crunchy bits of parmesan tuille, dressed in a balsamic vinaigrette.

Where there was trouble, it had less to do with the dishes themselves than with their temperature. What should've been hot - sautéed brook trout - came out room temperature. What should've been room temperature came out frigid, which is not the way you want your heirloom tomatoes to arrive. This may be nothing more than a growing pain, something that will be worked out.

One thing is already perfect, the feel of the room, the sense of invitation. The neighborhood is quickly figuring this out. The bar is a block party of sorts, a gathering of neighbors - a hipster couple, a young man in a Florent T-shirt, a businessman with a glass of red wine in one hand and his briefcase in another. They come for the tin ceiling and the wide mahogany bar as much as they do for the James' Revenge, made with rye, bitters, Cointreau and fresh kumquat juice.

This is a bar I'd like to call home. I'd park myself and order what should be Calvert's signature dessert - a char-grilled slab of lemon almond pound cake with homemade rhubarb sorbet. If we were all really lucky, we'd all live right around the corner from a place like James.

A block north of Bedford Ave. in Williamsburg, old women sit in lawn chairs along the sidewalk, fanning themselves with the crossword puzzle. Kids play catch in the middle of the street. A cyclist stops to high-five a friend through the large open window of a restaurant.

It's a new spot, open only since December, but already it seems to belong to the old neighborhood. It's called Miranda. Inside, the tables are set with dishtowel napkins and grandmother china.

Most nights, the co-owner, Mauricio Miranda, greets you at the door. And if he's not there to greet you, you might want to come back another night. That's how much difference his presence makes. The other co-owner is Miranda's fiancée, Sasha Rodriguez, who is the chef. She and Miranda met at Verbena, a defunct Italian restaurant near Gramercy Park. He was a server and she was a line cook. Together, at Miranda, they make a perfect marriage of Mexican and Italian food.

It's interesting to see how naturally the ingredients of those two cuisines can be wedded. Instead of risotto, there's Mexican rice, as wonderfully glutinous but flavored with tomato and cumin.

These combinations completely transform familiar dishes. You order the garganelli, and out comes a dish that looks like baked ziti. It's every bit as fulfilling but a hundred times better. What makes the difference is tangy chunks of longaniza sausage.

Or take the arancini. You expect it to be made with ground veal or beef, but instead it's studded with spheres of chorizo and served over a garlicky tomato fonduta.

Eat a few of these dishes and you begin to realize how close the connection between Italian and Mexican cuisine really is. Sometimes, there's only one ingredient of separation.

The food here is neighborhood food, comfort food, every-night food - but with a twist. A perfect example is the chicken soup. It gets a spicy kick of habanero chili and a nudge of lime. The pork tenderloin feels almost pleasingly wintry, except for the mole verde sauce, which is really a bright taste of summer. A special of fluke, baked in parchment paper, is a delicate fillet balanced on a sticky mound of Mexican rice, julienned zucchini and a beet leaf that tastes unmistakably of the earth.

When Mauricio stops by the table, he is usually brimming with excitement. Sometimes, he's showing off a bottle from his interesting collection of wines, many from small or organic producers. (I liked the Torrontes 2006 and the Alentex rosé.)

Sometimes, he's proudly presenting his small mounds of hibiscus leaves - jamaica (ha-MIKE-uh) - from his grandmother's garden in southern Mexico. It appears in a drink called Kika - a blend of homemade jamaica syrup, port and prosecco that looks and tastes like a fizzy Kool-Aid cocktail.

"It's shocking," a diner at Pomme de Terre said one night. "I've lived down the street for 20 years. A few months ago this was a seedy bodega that dealt drugs."

Now that seedy bodega in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn, is a charming corner bistro near a laundromat, a CVS pharmacy and a few takeout spots — a culinary nowhere along Newkirk Ave. This snug 40-seat space is appointed with vibrant murals that resemble vintage French posters. The original tin-ceiling remains, newly restored and painted over in a sunny yellow. Through large curtained windows, I saw patrons of every age waiting along the sidewalk. From the expressions on diners' faces, the neighborhood seems thrilled with the dizzying transformation.

So are co-owners Gary Jonas and Allison McDowell, who are residents of Ditmas Park themselves. They opened their first restaurant — The Farm on Adderley, only five blocks away — two years ago and realized they had tapped into an "underserved market." Underserved is an understatement. Pomme de Terre, the couple's second endeavor, is a joint venture with another Ditmas Park resident and restaurateur, Jim Mamary, who turned Smith St., which once resembled Newkirk Ave., into the culinary hot spot it is now.

The authentic French menu is the collaborative effort of chefs David Pitula (Aquavit, The Hideaway) and Tom Kearney, who also oversees the kitchen at The Farm on Adderley, where he developed a following for his American cooking and beloved twice-cooked fries. They serve the same, supercrispy fries at Pomme de Terre, but here they're accompanied by homemade ketchup and a finely charred steak. This is exquisitely executed bistro fare served in an unsettled restaurant frontier.

I ordered the steamed mussels, which arrived in an intoxicating, bright-green broth of basil, shallots and white wine. I loved an appetizer of crispy squid, defiantly greaseless and paired with a tangy lemon aioli. A moist branzino comes whole and stuffed with a fistful of fennel, lemon and dried tomatoes. And there is a first-rate croque-monsieur stacked with gooey Gruyere and paper-thin shavings of ham. But what makes this French staple so distinguished is the brioche, which tastes like a savory rendition of French toast. "I soak it in custard," Pitula confesses. If only I hadn't asked.

"Everything's homemade. Except for the bread," our server told us one evening. The butter that accompanies the baguette is made in-house. So is the chicken liver mousse, the mushroom ravioli, as well as the juicy duck sausage sweetened with currants. The thick, flaky crust on a fingerling potato tart — another homemade wonder — nearly overshadows its warm, soothing filling of potato, leeks and pungent Roquefort. The only disappointments I sampled were an overdressed chicory salad and a napoleon layered with desiccated vegetables in a greasy bric dough wrapper.

"This is dangerous," my dining companion said. We looked down at the remnants of our dessert — a satiny chocolate mousse, a pistachio-cherry tart, and a blood orange tart that, lucky for us, was a special that evening. My favorite was a tarte Tatin with incredibly ripe apples and candied edges.

Pomme de Terre could easily make it anywhere in Manhattan, but for now Manhattanites will have to travel to Ditmas Park.

A modest Brooklyn restaurant unleashes exotic African spices.
126 Union St., near Columbia St. Phone: (718) 855-4405
Dinner: Weds., Thurs., Sun., 5-10 p.m.;
Fri. and Sat., 5.-11 p.m.

Some restaurants lack soul. Not Korhogo 126. You can taste the soul of its owners on nearly every plate. This French West African eatery marries the culinary heritages of Parisian-born Emmanuelle Chiche and chef Abdhul Traore, who made his New York City debut at Les Enfants Terribles on the lower East Side. Traore hails from Korhogo, a small town in the Ivory Coast that's become this prideful new restaurant's namesake.

The chef injects a rush of seasonings and flavors from his homeland into French bistro staples. This translates to a menu where African classics, like grilled prawns in a pili pili (chili pepper) sauce appear alongside steak frites. But here the steak frites gets an aggressively spiced marinade of thyme, cardamom and kanifi (African black pepper).

These intensely exotic aromas spill into a modest dining room appointed with sponged yellow walls, a tin ceiling and wood tables. Past a tiny open kitchen the owners refer to as the "restaurant's laboratory" is a greenhouse decorated with a clunky antler chandelier, African masks and tribal fabric. The slightly kitschy surroundings belie the sophistication of the best of the chef's cooking.

Order the escargot: Out comes an elegant appetizer of escargot tucked into a wafer-thin pastry shell, resembling a large oyster overflowing with richly flavored treasures. These plump nibbles luxuriate in a Pernod sauce perfumed with star anise and crushed red pepper.

There's also a bouillabaisse that's not to be missed. This Provençale fish stew - brimming with fresh shrimp, scallops, clams and tilapia in a tomato and white-wine broth - gets an original and briny awakening from a sun-dried stockfish that Traore sources from an African grocery store in Harlem.

He works wonders with an entrée of roasted chicken, transforming a standard-issue dish into a memorable affair. A 24-hour marinade of cilantro, onions and garlic yields a moist and flavorful bird nestled into a toothsome yassa sauce - a mix of stewed onions, green olives, peppers, lime juice and a habañero chile that delivers a lingering heat. So does a fiery grilled prawns pili pili plated with spinach, sautéed vegetables and an aromatic puck of Wolof rice.

When Traore harnesses bold flavors, his cooking shines. It's only when he tempers the spices that he slips up. This was the case with a neutered vegetarian mafe (a Senegalese peanut stew) and a dainty cup of soup that played more like a dipping sauce for a side of spinach, eggplant and okra. Ditto on a Flintstone-size, gamy lamb shank with a restrained measure of ras el hanout seasoning. He plays it too safe with a generic mix of tough calamari and baby octopus, an out-of-place Greek salad and an uneventful goat-cheese terrine.

Where dessert is concerned, your best choice is a crusty mbous fass, which translates to and tastes unmistakably like French toast: a moist baguette soaked in sweet butter and topped with a marjoram-infused strawberry salad.

Korhogo 126 is a gutsy restaurant that rests on a sleepy block in Brooklyn's Columbia Waterfront District, adjoining a pizzeria, laundermat and wine shop. This earnest joint venture is a spirited journey into West Africa and France - a trip worth taking where a soulful chef delivers.

A hidden gem in Brooklyn
ADDRESS: 77 N. Sixth St.,at Wythe Ave., Brooklyn
PHONE: (718) 388-8985
DINNER: Tues.-Sat.,6-11:30 p.m.; Sun., 5:30-11 p.m.
CUISINE: Japanese brasserie
VIBE: Clandestine speakeasy
OCCASION: Romantic date; under-the-radar dining
DON'T-MISS DISH: Grilled miso oysters; scallops tempura
PRICES: Small plates $5-$14; desserts $6-$6.50
RESERVATIONS: Highly recommended

If James Bond were craving Japanese in Brooklyn, I imagine it would look a lot like Zenkichi.

An air of mystery and glamour begins at an unmarked wood door on a lonely street corner at the edge of Williamsburg. As you descend a flight of stairs into this three-story labyrinth of corridors, you'll feel like you've stumbled upon some hidden "otherworld" decorated with Japanese lanterns, bamboo and pebble-strewn floors.

Diners are escorted to dimly lit wooden booths and secluded from other guests by bamboo shades. There are tabletop call buttons to summon servers, who smoothly duck in and out of dining nooks to take orders or deliver dishes. It is no wonder Zenkichi is so romantic: Husband-and-wife team Shaul Margulies and Motoko Watanabe designed and run this 70-seat restaurant.

This Japanese brasserie could easily get by on its looks. Yet the small-plates menu is as beguiling as the intimate surroundings. Luscious oysters - grilled in a red miso sauce and presented in an oyster shell - taste as opulent as they look. So do glistening beads of ikura (salmon roe) mingled with salmon sashimi and tucked into a vibrant lime.

And rarely does tempura reach as luxurious heights as it does here. Delicate scallops are wrapped in a shiso plum leaf and coated in a marvelously crunchy batter. As for the shrimp tempura, a salty dab of Camembert cheese keeps the sweetness of tiger shrimp in perfect check. Both variations are coupled with green tea salt - a simple accessory that kicks the flavors up an intense notch.

The ingredients are as fresh and distinguished as much of the cooking, a collaborative effort by chefs Mikio Sano (Inagiku) and Tetsuya Akikawa (Jewel Bako). While the menu is a balancing act of traditional and contemporary Japanese cuisine, there is subtle invention at every turn. A gratin of Japanese mushrooms gets an aggressively rich béchamel sauce and a panko breadcrumb finish. It's the kind of dish you might find in Tokyo and is as exciting a discovery in Williamsburg. Instead of the typical skewering route, moist chicken meatballs are stuffed into a hollowed-out bamboo stalk and glazed in a sweet soy sauce.

There are weaker stretches of the menu, including a lifeless duck salad and the inevitable appearance of miso cod, touted by waitstaff as a signature dish. After a two-day marinade, the black cod had resurfaced a mealy disaster. And sometimes the kitchen embraced ingredients to a fault: A chewy salmon belly in a green tea dashi broth and a crème brulée were both wildly overpowered by green tea measures. Other than a frozen black sesame mousse, dessert is not their strong suit.

But there's a magnificent sake list, with more than 40 offerings by the glass, not to be missed. Sake is such a centerpiece of the restaurant that an entire selection of small plates is labeled "sake accompaniments." Another draw is the omakase tasting menu ($88 per couple) with seasonal delicacies, such as winter yellowtail with silky sea urchin. Zenkichi attracts a slew of couples and word-of-mouth clientele who want to keep this gem to themselves. I can't say I blame them.

Address: 109 South Sixth St., near Bedford Ave., Williamsburg (718) 782-2333
Dinner: Sun.-Thur., 5 p.m.-11 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5 p.m.-midnight. Closed Sundays.
Cuisine: Contemporary Latin.
Vibe: Vibrant Spanish villa.
Occasion: Neighborhood dinner; Group dinner.
Don't miss dish:   Pinchos de res (cubed filet mignon); escolar in blood orange sauce.
Price: Appetizers, $7-12; entrees, $15-21; desserts, $7-8.
Reservations: Accepted.

These days, there are many temptations in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I learned this en route to Viñas, a new Latin American restaurant in this burgeoning neighborhood.

First, there's Peter Luger. The aroma of its butter-sopped porterhouses wafts out onto the streets. Literally. If you can resist this seduction, there's yet another: the lure of Dressler, with its romantic portrait window and sophisticated American fare.

Though nearly impossible to refuse both temptations on my first visit, I persevered toward a quiet street with few signs of life. Then, there was the unexpected sight of a vibrant tile-topped bar, visible through the window. As you make your way inside Viñas, you'll feel as if you've just crossed the East River and ended up in Spain. It's decorated with terra-cotta floors, leather-trimmed benches and salvaged wood tables.

But the more unexpected discovery is the food. The menu covers more territory than its decor: It not only ambles through Spain, but also Argentina, Peru and Puerto Rico. The chef, Henry Lopez Jr., is Puerto Rican. Other than a six-month stint as a line cook at Ola, Lopez has spent little time training in prominent kitchens.

Yet, if you tasted his expertly poached escolar, you'd never know it. The snowy-white hunk is sauced with a blood orange mojo, and sits above a crunchy mountain of coconut rice. Even a swine snob would find his braised pork belly fetching. Its crackly skin gives way to truffle honey-tinged meat that's fanned around a yucca cake. The yucca cake (yucafongo) is deep-fried and stuffed with squid - an entree unto itself.

It's gutsy to peddle meats so close to the legendary Peter Luger. But Viñas takes a decidedly Argentinean approach where steaks are concerned. Juicy cubes of filet mignon are skewered and served with an anchovy- and tuna-spiked red pepper sauce that's a tangy hybrid between chimichurri and tonnato sauce. There's a garlicky skirt steak and a flavorful trio of lamb chops placed over shredded collard greens and a side of crusty purple potatoes.

The lamb chops didn't arrive with an entourage of servers. They were brought to the table by the chef himself, who sometimes makes deliveries. Viñas is a small-scale production. General manager Cliff Robinson plays the part of server and, more impressively, the sommelier. He has designed a sizable and affordable roster of wines by the glass (15 whites and 13 reds).

In addition to full-flavored meats, Viñas offers intriguing empanadas and ceviches, including spicy shrimp invigorated by Peruvian chilies and roasted tomatoes as well as kalamansi-marinated scallops.

The restaurant's shortcomings somehow make it more endearing. There are missteps, like a red snapper ceviche in an excessively sweet passionfruit sauce, and some comically small dishes: a miniature quail and a marble-sized nibble of goat cheese in a guava shell for dessert. Considering the size of the staff, dessert is an afterthought.

The dining room is scattered with a few locals and friends of the chef or owner Mike Jaramillo. Jaramillo has amassed a tiny empire in Williamsburg, which also includes Sweet Farm Bakery, a Maxim gym and another gym that will open just next door to the restaurant in February.

Viñas' inventive Latin fare is still relatively undiscovered here. It shouldn't be.