Smith’s

Charred baby squid with lemon and pancetta

My friend Larry Smith titled his popular online magazine Smith, not for egotistical reasons but rather because the empty-vessel nature of his everyman’s surname would ideally carry appeal for a broad audience. That same logic seems to be driving Cindy Smith, co-owner of Smith’s, located on one of Greenwich Village’s most touristy blocks. She could have named it “Abrams’s,” after her better-known boyfriend/co-owner, Danny Abrams of the Red Cat, the Harrison and the Mermaid Inn, or “Zeff’s,” after designer Mark Zeff, who has created an architectural jewel out of the annex of MacDougal Street veteran Caffé Dante. But in the end, Smith’s—not to be confused with the Smith, another vanilla-named downtown newbie that, bizarrely, was also designed by Zeff—works as a name for the same reason it works as a restaurant: classic all-Americanism. This motif shines in the design (the stunning main dining room comes outfitted like a railroad car, with antique mirror panels on the ceiling, and there’s a back-room bar that replicates a 1920s speakeasy) and the food (Bouley and Jean-Georges alum Pablo Romero largely checked his French training at the door in lieu of seasonal, regional cuisine).

In an unusual move, most of the starters skew vegetarian, including four somewhat boring, straightforward preparations, such as sautéed brussels sprouts with toasted almonds, and roasted eggplant served room temperature with pickled piquillo peppers, raisins and sherry vinegar—in texture and taste, the concoction reminded me of stewed onions from a hot-dog vendor. When Romero adds classic European accents, the results improve. His charred baby squid, plucked from Cape Cod, could have very well come from the Amalfi Coast: The calamari was magnificently firm and fresh, with a vivid lemon glaze grounded by salty bits of pancetta.

Grilled lobster, butternut squash puree and brussels sprouts

There’s similar seaside excellence in the grilled lobster entrée, which again was expertly prepared—first butter-poached, then grilled to just the lightest of chars, the inside still slightly rare—and seasoned with a herbaceous mix that tasted of truffles, trumpet mushrooms and spinach. On the meat side, Romero offers only artery-cloggers: boneless pork chop with braised pork cheeks, a grilled rib eye in marrow gravy and a particularly good lamb saddle. Romero prefers to cook the lamb medium, rather than medium-rare, but it remains tender, with needed fragrance added by a sharp Parmesan puree.

There are mistakes: An accompanying cauliflower gratin with Taleggio had the gooey consistency of bad fondue, and the desserts, such as an apple cake that tasted of mulled cider and a chocolate bread pudding that was no better than a wet brownie, seemed like afterthoughts.

But tucked cozily away from the tourist hordes, in a beautiful space, eating high-integrity food served without fuss and drinking reasonably priced wine (that includes plenty of half bottles and an earthy $27 red Napa table wine from GustavoThrace that could pass for twice the price), it’s easy to appreciate the brilliance of competence, pure and simple.