I had no idea I liked porridge. In fact, other than eating imaginary bowls of the cold, hot, and just-right stuff with my daughter Emily (who plays a charming Goldilocks to my Mama Bear), I'm not sure that I have given porridge all that much thought over the years. That was until I had dinner at Acme, the now cult-favorite among the New Nordic food loving set. Now it seems, I'm having a full on love affair with the stuff.

The restaurant's Danish chef, Mads Refslund, who comes to Manhattan from Copenhagen, where he helped pioneer the art of forager cuisine with René ­Redzepi, at the world-famous restaurant Noma, is a porridge master. If the three little bears were serving his clam, scallop, and pearl barley porridge, Goldilocks would've eaten all three bowls, no matter what their temperature. This porridge was at once light and hearty, salty and sweet, ethereal and earthy, with caramelized scallops and salty clams surfing on a brilliant broth manifested from silken barely, butter, beer, and toasted sunflower seeds. It's like nothing I've ever imagined, a romantic fairy tale rising from a city of dark secrets.

And then there is his other porridge, the one served at the end of the meal; a porridge dessert. This one is also a miracle, but first more about what happens in between these two bowls. By the time you arrive at dessert, you will have probably oohed and ahhed not only at the food, most of which has a fairy tale quality to it, like the chef's imagination was set alight in a some far away forest of magic, but also at the crowd, so startlingly beautiful as to be a mirage.

Models, actresses and the handsome bearded men who surround them, apparently have no other place to be than Acme. They gather here in numbers, but the sheer loveliness and dewy youth of the crowd should come as no surprise. After all, two of the four owners of Acme have been running downtown-scene restaurants for two decades (most notably ­Indochine and BondSt). The glittery and the gorgeous follow them like right-wing Christians to a Santorum rally.

Their newly designed Acme, which for decades was an old honky tonk haunt, feels all grown up now, with its rows of weathered banquettes, walls of neatly framed artwork (prints of Playboy bunny-inspired skulls by Richard Prince and a neon sculpture by Hanna Liden), and close-quarter brasserie tables. Given the beautiful crowds, the dining room buzzes with the energy of a wrap party for the "Mad Men" season finale, and the lighting is just right, a warm caramel that erases lines and leaves cheeks flush with the glow of just the right amount of Pinot Noir. You'll like the way you look in here.

Lucky for us, the food is as beautiful as the set. Some of it is a bit outlandish, like the hay-roasted sunchokes, and the lard-laced heirloom carrots, but it's fun, exciting, and wildly imaginative. A personal favorite was a platter of his house-cured salmon that's served in shimmering pink sheets over a tangle of shredded cabbage and a light and creamy horseradish and buttermilk dressing. It's light, delicious, and delivers on flavor, texture, and wonder. Salt-baked beets with red grapefruit, dressed simply in an aged vinegar, arrive in a gleaming white bowl, striped like peppermints and as red as rubies, salty, briny, and beautiful.  

A crostini marries an old 80's standby--baked brie-melted on top of creamy spread of caramelized butternut squash. It's an appetizer that I enjoyed, despite feeling like it was slightly out of place on such an elegant menu. To me, it seemed like something I might find at a friend's game night or on a Trader Joe's sample counter. I mean this in a good way. But you're back safe New Nordic territory with the chef's Farmer's Eggs, slightly reminiscent of the ones served up at Per Se, hollowed out shells piped with egg custard and cauliflower foam, soft, warm, and creamy, it's porridge by another name.

While the chef for the most part pleases, I wasn't a fan of the artic char, which was cooked nicely but tasted fishy and felt overrun by sherry vinegar and capers. But the steak is terrific; a New York Strip loin that's juicy and pink, served with a cascade of ramps and spring's first onions, sweetly charred. My only complaint would be that the dish needs a starch. Craving one, we ordered a side of hand cut fries for $8, and were served with a handful of golden potatoes with clever oyster mayo. But seriously, the kitchen gives out those fries in just slightly more abundance than Justice Thomas hands out questions at oral argument; I could count the fries in that silver cup on my two hands. More, please!

But we've now come to the end of the meal, the time of that magical second bowl of porridge. This one fashioned is from beer, dark rye bread, and chocolate and qualifies as one of the best dishes of 2012 in my book. Part pudding, part nirvana, it's served with salted caramel ice cream, and is another reason to reassess your feelings about porridge for the long term. Three bowls of this might not be enough.

Acme is located at right where it's always been, at 9 Great Jones Street, 212-203-2121.

Andrea Strong