To name a restaurant "The Dutch," is to assume the risk of explaining your concept again and again. I imagine the reservationists are plagued with questions like, "What's with the name?" "Who's the genius who thought of that one?" "Are you a Dutch restaurant?" "Do you only allow people to go Dutch?" She or he will reply, in a very kind manner, while breathing deeply and counting to ten, "The Dutch is an American Restaurant, Bar and Oyster Room inspired by local cafés, country inns, corner taverns, neighborhood bistros, seaside shacks, roadside joints, old school dining halls and the same mix of cultural influences that make New York City great."

Let me tell you what The Dutch means to me: utterly fantastic food, the kind that you want to eat with friends, but that you'd be just as happy to devour in solitary enjoyment; the kind that will stick to your fingers, and more probably your waistline; the kind that will have you marveling, after all you've eaten in your life of eating, at how it's possible for food to be this thrilling; the kind that will sneak into your memory and show up later in the week, curling itself lovingly around your mind until you can no longer refuse its call. Don't bother resisting. You will go back. Again and again. The frequency of your visits will have you considering the economic sense of a pied-a-terre on Sullivan Street. Seriously.

You will go back even though the room is so uncomfortably hot that the backs of your legs will feel as though they may melt into the banquettes (perhaps an effective new cellulite treatment?), even though your throat will ache from screaming over the deafening roar of the leggy suntanned crowd at the bar and the red-faced, happy-go-lucky masses (all in matching straw fedoras, of course), poured into their tightly-spaced tables; even though your shirt, wet from hours in this sauna-as-restaurant, has now turned from dry and pressed to wrinkled and soggy. If this be the price of eating at the Dutch, I am prepared to pay.  

Of the delirious treats in store for you at The Dutch, which occupies the space that for decades was The Cub Room, are Chef Andrew Carmellini's tidy little oyster sandwiches. Think mini Po boys: Parker House rolls stuffed with fat fried oysters, as crispy-crunchy on the outside as they are briny-juicy on the in. At $5 a pop, these are by far one of the best cheap eats in the city. One is really enough, but you'll want more. No worries; you'll come back.

And what of this eggplant dip with savory crackers ($9)? You've had your share of babaganoush, even from Sahadi. What could be so special about it? Quite a bit as it turns out. Indeed, Carmellini must have a little Lebanese in him somewhere. This stuff is killer; there's smoke, there's heat, there's the balm of a bit of chopped mint. And there are enough crackers to scrape every last bit from its pretty ceramic bowl.

Be sure, my friends, to also have your share of dressed crab ($17): luscious, sweet meat pulled from the claws and mounted up into a hill accessorized with Bloody Mary sauce, like a cool, zippy gazpacho, and topped with a puddle of green goddess dressing. On a hot day, with a cold draft, it's priceless.

As may be apparent by the few dishes I have just described, the menu chef Andrew Carmellini (Locanda Verde) has created has no real overall concept - this is not an Italian restaurant, it's not Asian, it's not Mexican (though you will find dishes from each of these cultures represented). It's Carmellini cuisine, a best hits collection, a smattering of come-hither plates that will please you deeply, in the same way that returning your Netflix the very next day after viewing does. I somehow routinely wait up to 30 days, stashing that red envelope in my bag and forgetting it, as I pass mailbox after mailbox, for weeks on end. In any case, it's very satisfying.

Take his smoked ricotta ravioli ($18), for instance. This dish is lovely. Ethereal pockets of pasta the size of peaches are filled up with gently smoked ricotta cheese and plopped into a fresh tomato sauce peppered with soft herbs ($18). While you may not crave rabbit pot pie in the summertime, if you are feeling in need of comfort and stability, come on over. The Dutch is serving it up in a pastry-topped clay vessel, with summer peas and corn mingling with confited meat underneath. It's fireside cooking at its best.

But my favorite dish on the menu is still to be revealed. It's not Italian, not American, not Asian. It's Mexican in origin: the lamb neck mole ($25). What a thrill. Now, lamb neck is not a cut I am used to eating, but after this, I'm going to my butcher for a special request. An enormous portion of braised necks, heavy with meat and good enough for three to share, are rustled into a rich and delicious mole redolent of poblano chiles, toasted nuts, dark chocolate, and cinnamon. Red rice and chayote accompany. Well done.

The Dutch comes to us from restaurateurs Josh Pickard and Luke Ostrom, guys who have clocked a collective six decades in the biz so they run a tight ship. So, here's what you can expect. The service is going to be great, from the greeting at the door to the adieu after the feast. All the little details will work together. Your water glass will never be dry. Your silverware will never disappear. Your needs will not only be met, they will be anticipated. Nice. They've also smartly tapped Josh Nadel (of Locanda) as beverage director, and he's assembled a quirky and exciting collection of wines and refreshing brews (and nice whiskey and cocktail lists, too) that pair up nicely with your dinner adventure by Captain Carmellini and crew.  

And you'll be drinking a lot, not only because of the great choices available, but because if you don't, the temperature of the room will cause dehydration to set it quickly. My recommendation? Start with a cocktail, perhaps the East Side Manhattan (Death's Door Whiskey, Dolin Blanc, White Dog, Kirshwasser, Jasmine bitters), then switch to lots of cold beer (there's a Schneider-Weisse on tap). Repeat as needed.

Pie is a must for dessert, so please don't leave without a slice, or two. Fillings change daily, but you can't go wrong. There's also a nice strawberry shortcake, but the pie is a must. So skip the shortcake if you can't manage both. Don't worry. You'll be back, perhaps with ear plugs (though at time of printing sound proofing was being installed) and in a very light tank dress, but you won't be able to stay away.

The Dutch is located at 131 Sullivan Street, corner of Prince, 212-677-6200.

Andrea Strong