Just about every other week someone mentions the Emporium in the midst of a restaurant-related conversation.

It’s easy to understand why: the trendy wood-frame house setting, sedate (some might be kinder and say ‘refined’) background music, waitstaff flitting quietly in and out of the room--oh, and a menu listing urbane dishes like rack of lamb, pan seared red snapper, wasabi foam and ceviche.

No calf fries mentioned anywhere. And a bar selection extending far beyond Bud Light, into the realm of signature cocktails, fine wines and even grappa.

This is, by the looks of it, contemplative dining.

Their ceviche reinforces that notion. Small cubes of bright tuna achieve a firm yet still delicate texture, with no sign of over “cooking.” These are coated with a thin coating of mellow sesame and tossed with chunks of Bartlett pear--a combination flattering to all three elements. Herbs infuse the dish, as well, causing a shiver of sharp, earthy bitterness. It’s a neat foil to the warm, dusky, elegant flavors.

The Emporium’s steaks and lamb are remarkable. Their fried chicken, however, falls short, thanks to a somewhat sodden crust. An intense wash of buttermilk barely improves matters.

Oh, the meat itself is moist and tender. But the overall package again seems to suggest that only Southern grandmothers and those who tote foil-wrapped platters to church suppers truly fry great chicken. I don’t know why this is the case.

Every restaurant has its ups and downs, though. And the Emporium can be forgiven for odd missteps. After all, they are slight enough--and soon forgotten as more impressive dishes come to the fore.

The kitchen, for example, prepares macaroni and cheese with a rich and acrid smoked Gouda. Although the pasta on my visit was beyond al dente, there was just enough taint, just enough pungency, just enough wood and bitterness…It is a beautifully balanced thing.

They stir a side order of brussels sprouts--oh, how I despise brussels sprouts--with onions, peppers and, most importantly, strips of overtly smoky bacon. The combination of tart, rustic, bitter, rich, fatty and charred sensations turn the leafy green blobs not only into something palatable, but also something worth savoring.

And it’s just a side dish.

Perfect? No. But the narrow wood frame restaurant does feel like a touch of big city refinement--right down to the $12 martinis.

It’s a worthwhile special occasion destination.