Some restaurants are the darlings of buzz. They rev the blogs, flutter the twitters, and grace the glossies even before the lease is signed, heck even before the chef is on board. Others are more stealth in their approach. They open quietly, without a word of press. They develop a following with their neighbors: the family down the street, the guys around the corner, the girls upstairs. Those neighbors continue to come, and when they realize what they’ve found, they come again and again, but they keep word close to the chest. Who needs crowds and waits? Who needs cross-borough traffic?

That seems to be the case at Jack the Horse Tavern, a terrific little gem flying well under the foodie radar in Brooklyn Heights, a neighborhood with an abundance of breathtaking architecture (and Bugaboos) and a startling dearth of quality dining establishments, other than Noodle Pudding, Henry’s End, Teresa’s, and, of course, Lichee Nut. But Jack the Horse is truly special, and would be even if it weren’t located in a culinary wasteland.

Craig and I found it on one of our late afternoon strolls with Emily. There it was, tucked into a sleepy nook on the corner of Hicks and Cranberry. White lights twinkled along the moldings and a bench outside offered passersby a place to rest. It was a charming sort of vision. And you’ll find it filled nightly with the crowds of regulars who commune for the delicious and honest food, who chat in the warm glow of the restaurant’s amber lighting, who drink and snack on platters of charcuterie—a hefty triangle of country pate studded with pistachios, and an abundance of bresaola, sopressata, chorizo, and pickles with slices of warm baguette ($10)—at the friendly bar.

The restaurant, named after a lake in northern Minnesota where the chef (Tim Oltmans), and his father and brothers used to fish, has the feel of an old friend: cozy, inviting, welcoming. There are two rooms, and as you walk from one to the next the wooden floors slope slightly and show their age. It’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one. There are weathered brick walls hung with old clocks and wooden shelves stacked with books—almanacs, dictionaries, that sort of thing. A wall of banquettes is invitingly strewn with throw pillows. In the front bar room, thoughtfully prepared cocktails are assembled from good brown spirits and bitters, served in antique tumblers and vintage stemmed martini glasses. Beside the bar, two wooden crates are filled with books for kids, with everything from Mother Goose to Peter Rabbit. It is Brooklyn after all.

But it’s Brooklyn as seen through the lens of chef/owner Tim Oltmans and his business partner Micki Schmidt. The pair envisioned creating a place with the conviviality of a London pub, but with intimacy of a French bistro, and the food of a New York restaurant. I guess they call that a gastropub nowadays, but in any case, whatever you call what they’ve created, from the welcome, to the décor, to the food, it is certainly something. I'll call it a Brooklyn darling.

Oltmans, who started his cooking career with Jean Louis Dumonet at Trois Jean and has worked with Tom Colicchio at Gramercy Tavern, Laurent Tourondel while at C.T., and Floyd Cardoz at Tabla, has created a menu that’s made for repeat offenders. You might have the roasted French-boned chicken breast with its crispy skin and light, lemony potatoes one night, or the fat burger ($15) smothered with Asiago cheese and snuggled into a ciabatta roll with pickled onions with a cone of skinny, crispy fries another. Or you might, as we did, stop in on a brisk, bright late fall day for brunch and tuck into an omelette ($11)—more like a fluffy egg crepe—folded over a creamy basil pesto with gobs of melting Asiago cheese and a side salad so fresh the greens might have been picked that morning.

The brunch menu also includes a particularly indulgent take on poached eggs—perched on fluffy house-made English muffins, with fried oysters, artichoke hearts and hollandaise ($14). Yum. The baked eggs ($11), which sound wonderful, layered with fresh goat cheese, pesto, spinach and your choice of prosciutto or bacon, don’t work as well. The yolks harden up before they get to the table. But no matter. The pancakes (silver dollars in a bucket for kids or a high stack for mom and dad) are flawless: light and airy, the perfect vehicle for butter and syrup (which is really why we eat pancakes after all).

Whatever you choose to eat here, you will enjoy it and you will want to return. The place is charming, the food is terrific and the service is, too. The food is along the lines of Five Points, Savoy, Little Owl: simple, delicious, and reasonably priced. Everything is executed perfectly: moist and flaky fish, tender and juicy meats cooked to the right temperature, and the freshest salads dressed with perfectly balanced vinaigrettes. One night Craig and I started with a salad (to share)—those terrific mixed greens (and ruffled reds) tossed with hunks of Maytag blue and topped with a fan of sliced poached pears ($8). Rather than sending one salad for us to share, the kitchen split it in two, giving each of us quite a large portion. Little touches like that make you know someone in there really cares. The thoughtfulness also comes through in the cocktail list, too which is two lovely pages long and includes classics and modern takes. The Brooklyn Heights is my favorite, a mix of Rye whiskey, bitters, and Campari with a twist.

We were not the only ones who were impressed with the food at Jack the Horse. One night, the guy at the table next to me turned to me and said, “This steak is amazing, I’ve gotta find out what cut this is and get it from my butcher.” He then returned to his meal, smiling and fascinated. He was right. The hanger steak is excellent, cut on the bias in nice thick, juicy pieces, served with a comforting cheese-laden gratin of potatoes, grilled red onions, and horseradish sauce ($24). The short ribs are great, too, the sort of dish made for winter, with Brussels sprouts, radishes, and a creamy potato puree ($23). A juicy pork rib chop looks to the South and gets a creamy cornbread sauce, with roasted parsnips and caramelized apples ($22). Mussels fans should make a point of trying the plump PEI pups served here, a generous portion in a giant bowl with toasted country bread and herb fries ($17).

Desserts are fine, but not noteworthy. Instead, have another cocktail or order of the mac ‘n cheese, made from cavatappi pasta, with smoked gouda and fontina ($9, an appetizer), as dessert instead.

As I sit in my apartment writing this review, the weather outside is quite frightful: cold, raining, dark and depressing. But I am dreaming of another dinner at Jack the Horse. It takes the chill off in an instant. It’s the kind of place you want in your neighborhood, and I am thrilled it’s in mine. Let the buzz begin.

Jack the Horse Tavern is located at 66 Hicks Street, (718) 852-5084.

Andrea Strong