Photo: Beth Levendis

The E.U. might be the only New York City eatery that has gained renown not for its meals, but for merely surviving. The plight of the restaurant has been relentlessly documented by the city’s scandal-hungry food press. In deference to film producer and E.U. part owner Bob Giraldi, here’s the grim, 18-month tale, Hollywood-style.

Fade in: Alphabet City, 2005. Our entrepreneur-heroes scout a vacant spot for their hip gastropub. Think Big Night meets Beerfest meets Borat—without the mankini.

Act II: Cue foreboding music. Neighborhood sourpusses torpedo liquor license; first chef leaves. [Insert blog reporting montage: “e.u. takedown!; another blow for e.u.!” ] Protagonists open as a BYOB; second chef leaves. Restaurant closes! Oscar clip: Close-up on Giraldi and partner Jason Hennings—the pain, the passion, not a dry eye in the house!

Owners continue the booze battle; settle for beer and wine. Reopens in October. Third chef splits.

Act III: More than $1 million in the hole, Giraldi, Hennings and fourth chef, Akhtar Nawab, formerly of Craftbar and the never-realized Allen & Delancey, open the doors. Six weeks later, the critic arrives: E.U. is a hit.

Oddly, filmgoers, the stench of death does not surround this restaurant bloodbath. During recent visits, the place was swarming with a downtown crowd that seemed oblivious to E.U.’s beleaguered past. There was even an A-list celeb—Chelsea Clinton—planted at the bar.

The studied informality of the lofty, AvroKo-realized space—exposed beams, jagged brick walls, oversize filament bulbs—works. The butcher-paper menu does extra duty as a place mat and bread-basket lining, tables are spaced tightly, and the music is cranked to a past-tolerable volume. The E.U. pulsates with the same energy that made Blue Ribbon and Balthazar perennial late-night destinations.

The hard-earned booze selection utilizes its limited range to full potential. There are more than a dozen European microbrews and a 60-bottle wine list packed with small European producers.

Per the E.U. theme (shorthand for European Union), the first three chefs served pan-European standards. Under Nawab, those initials could stand for Etats-Unis—he’s added American touches like hamburgers and chicken potpie to the competent steak tartares and iced oysters. But Nawab puts his stamp on the cuisine with subtle, original twists. A foie gras terrine was lathered with foamy lemon curd; pork meatballs were painted with yogurt; a spinach-and-artichoke salad was doused in bottarga-laced dressing and crowned with a deep-fried soft-boiled egg.

Entrées are natural extensions of the smartly accented starters. Medallions of Berkshire pork were little more than a foil for a peppercorn-studded sauerkraut. Poached striped bass was topped with jerkylike smoked elf mushrooms and a sharp pistachio vinaigrette. “Chicken and dumplings” was a well-seasoned, panfried bird scattered with chestnut gnocchi. The dense German burger got a layer of liverwurst (think a poor man’s Boulud burger). Desserts are less surprising—beignets with condensed-milk and chocolate dipping sauces, a middling sticky toffee pudding—and the service, despite the large, demanding crowd, was affable and relaxed.

One problem: The place shutters at 1am, a bargaining chip in exchange for E.U.’s booze rights. When you’ve stared death in the face, such a triviality is just a bump on the ride into the sunset. Cue triumphant music—roll end credits.