Chow in Dogpatch

The menu's evolution is seasonal and constant. The springy purée of sorrel and potato soup we missed ordering one night has been replaced by roasted onion and potato soup on another, its somewhat bland flavor amped up by a drizzling of black truffle oil and a knot of crispy fried shallots. More vivid starters include the roasted buffalo bone marrow, three chunks yielding the ever-so-slightly gamy, succulent buttery fat, bedded on crystals of gray sea salt and sided with grilled country bread and a parsley-leaf salad jeweled with unexpected kumquats. One night we enjoyed expertly fried broccoli di cicco and asparagus in a light, crunchy cornmeal crust, served with chunks of Meyer lemon and a smoky, pale-orange pimenton aioli. On another, the asparagus was joined by a heap of carefully fried Hama Hama oysters. The prosaically named fish stew, freighted with cod, clams in the shell, and diced potato in a dark fennel-scented tomato broth, served with two anchoïade-smeared toasts, tastes more like bouillabaisse than the two dishes I've eaten within recent memory of that name. Its unfamiliar, chivelike greens are so unexpectedly salty that we think they must be a kind of seaweed, but the server tells us it's agretti, a vegetable famed for its sharp tang.

Our favorite starter is the savory bread pudding, a not-particularly-attractive-at-first-glance hillock that conceals nettles, roasted onions, and melty Swiss cheese under its brown exterior, enlivened by a thin green herb sauce. (For an extra $5, roasted carrots and mixed greens can be added to make a perfect vegetarian, if not vegan, entrée.) Juicy grilled lamb riblets atop fava-bean purée and under crumbs of French feta could serve as a starter or light main course.

Other very good dishes included a nice chunk of seared black Alaskan cod set on a thoughtful assemblage of flageolet beans, roasted sunchokes, black trumpet mushrooms, fennel, and baby mustard greens with Meyer lemon aioli; and pan-roasted lamb chops, surrounded by tasty crusted fat, with French green lentils, bacon chunks, and roasted spring shallots. The only disappointment was a rather dull roast half-chicken, the breast nicely cooked but the disjointed thigh still slightly bloody at the bone. It was paired with some white grits, a frill of uncooked and undressed baby spinach bearing no trace of the advertised roasted shallot vinaigrette, and some tasty butternut squash.

There's an interesting wine list, and a seductive list of after-dinner drinks, ready to complement some splendid desserts. The individual chocolate cake is ringed with crème anglaise, sided with a ball of Bi-Rite vanilla ice cream, and boasts syrupy candied kumquats. A fragrant Earl Grey–scented pot de crème comes with a perfumey bergamot granita. We've never had a better lemon meringue pie than the fragile, flaky-pastried Meyer lemon tart served here, criss-crossed with toasted marshmallow meringue and served with blood orange segments.

When our server noticed we had cleaned two of our dessert plates but were not nearly as enthusiastic about the massive but undistinguished portion of apple compote topped with walnut streusel and whipped cream, it didn't appear on our check. That was a singularly thoughtful gesture. Serpentine comprises an accumulation of such thoughtful gestures, from its setting to its very satisfying food and drink. Welcome to the neighborhood!