Photograph: Jeff Gurwin

The champagne showed up at my table unannounced. A couple nearby was celebrating big news—she was pregnant; he was being informed. I overheard, and gave a congratulatory nod. So out came the bubbly, and by the end of the night, Fausto and Katia had become my new friends, as had Bar Blanc itself, a jovial, surprisingly sophisticated West Village spot where such random acts of festivity feel completely appropriate.

Cooked up by a trio of Bouley alums led by chef Cesar Ramirez, Bar Blanc is true to its name: A white marble bar acts as a runway toward the dining areas, where the brick walls are covered, like a wet suit, by a sheath of white plaster, and the seats are clad in snowy vinyl. The lively space manages to appear crowded without jamming folks in, and loud, though not so deafening that I couldn’t hear the expectant parents two tables over—just the right combination of coolness and intimacy.

Ramirez’s food, meanwhile, is neither cool nor intimate, but rather rich and classic, full of potent emulsions and, per the Bouley influence, hints of Japanese flavor. The standout appetizer of pan-seared jumbo scallops presented mollusks as soft and chewy as gumdrops, and almost as sweet, with a coating of orange-zest confit tempered only by finely sliced shallots. (My only gripe—my two-scallop ration fell 50 percent short of a neighboring table’s. The dish was good enough, and at $16 pricey enough, for me to notice.)

Ramirez’s entrées, a short list of fish, meat and pasta dishes, share a common thread: a chef who takes his time. A “slow-cooked” organic chicken with black trumpet mushrooms, a superlatively luscious “gently cooked” salmon in white-wine sauce, plus several more dishes involving roasting and braising. The wonderfully balanced fettuccine, beefed up with lean hunks of mustard-braised rabbit and tomatoes roasted long enough to erase all acidity, was doused with a sumptuous gravy, while mint and mustard emulsions provided sharp, herbaceous accents.The seared black cod—as gorgeous as a Miró painting—was the least impressive entrée I tried, most memorable for a saffron mussel sauce that lingered agreeably on my palate. Ramirez proves stronger with his wintry meats, such as the “milk-fed porcelet,” which is pretentious-speak for a heaping pile of swine: crisp skin encasing a tender, albeit gummy, baby pig loin; a similar preparation for slices of fattier belly; and a token terrine of headcheese on bread, which lends a rich and pleasant liverlike smell to the entire dish. As with most of Ramirez’s offerings, it’s very good, definitely distinctive, though short of great.

Pastry chef Daniel Keehner, however, showed flashes of excellence with his roasted pineapple, one of the best desserts I’ve had in a while: Parchment-thin slices drenched in a sharp basil oil cover the plate, along with refreshing cubes of pineapple gelée and a scoop of uncanny pineapple sorbet. Though a puck-size Meyer lemon soufflé, combined with goat-cheese ice cream, tasted more like a cheesecake, it was nonetheless fragrant and light.If the food is well above average, the service is far less consistent: One visit saw hyperefficiency, with fast servers effortlessly refilling bread, water and wine from the good, far-ranging list; another was a disaster, with an ill-informed waiter, a lengthy pause between the appetizer and main, and a mix-up of bills that resulted in getting my neighbor’s credit card and check, while he got mine. Snafus aside, though Bar Blanc isn’t really a bar, there’s a hard-to-quantify joie de vivre that, combined with good eats, makes this an engaging place to dine.