The new Dream Hotel lives up to its name, to judge by a tour of the lobby, which features such oneiric icons as a breathtaking two-story fish tank, green deer skulls, and a sculpture of a Bundt cake impaled on spikes. Amalia, the adjoining restaurant, has its own visual mixture of metaphors: black chandeliers, I-beams within vitrines, a complex of modern-baroque dining rooms with names like the Fragonard Gallery and the Chinoiserie Salon. I felt a foreboding, walking to my table the first time, to the tune of loud dance music, that the cooking would be similarly unmoored from reality, or take a back seat to the pageantry. But Ivy Stark, who headed large-scale kitchen operations at Rosa Mexicano and Dos Caminos, takes a firm hand here, creating a Pan-Mediterranean menu that’s simultaneously sensible, inspired, and delicious.

Five skewered, stuffed dates make a great starter ($13): They’re stuffed with gooey, savory duck confit, wrapped in salty ham, baked to a chewy crisp, and capped with bits of fig. Small, on their toothpicks, they’re more like a passed hors d’oeuvre than true table fare, and hence ideal for sharing. An individual “lasagnette” ($12) makes a more classic starter. It comes fragrant and bubbling in a hot little round iron casserole perfectly fitted to the layers of sliced eggplant that fill it, along with tomato and wonderful creamy goat cheese, rich and full of flavor.

Ms. Stark serves calamari ($14) two ways in one bowl, crisping little intact purple squids and laying them on the tender cooked ringlets of their larger peers, which are stewed with earthy white beans and bits of chorizo in a spicy orange-colored broth. It’s a fine showcase for the ingredients, as is a plain sashimi-style preparation of yellowtail ($14), laid coolly on a plate and accented in a symphony of warm color, with juicy tangerine segments, strips of deep-red onion sweetly cured with vanilla, and dots of smoky Turkish pepper purée.

Main courses are no less eclectic. A sea bass ($28), grilled whole and boned, has a simple appeal, framed by sweet shrimpand-potato hash and spiced up with a fresh green salsa. But the kitchen is at its best when it unleashes its knack for complexity. A thick-sliced breast of duck — the Muscovy breed, with bigger, beefier flavor than most — has its skin glazed with lavender honey, whose fresh, complex sweetness makes the dish extraordinary. It’s accompanied by buttery-tasting lentils, a mild, ineffectual little savory flan, and, in an unusual touch, half garnish and half tasty complement, a sprig of plump raisins still on their vine.

Lamb osso buco’s garnish threatens to smother it: a tangle of fresh, frizzy greens that arcs verdantly over the big, tender shank ($31). Amalia’s version of the classic gremolata seasoning includes tangerine zest, which gives an unusual, delicate keenness to the meat; and Tunisian harissa sauce adds a slow, smoky heat to the braise. The presence on the menu of calf’s liver ($24), a die-hard crowd-displeaser, is further proof that there’s more to the restaurant than throbbing beats and a VIP lounge. The liver is near-perfect, crisp-edged and creamy, with a mild earthiness that’s reflected in its soft, rich bed of corn polenta. That pairing would be enjoyable enough in its subtle complexity, but a topping of wizened, crunchy-seeded figs, redolent of cinnamon and Moroccan spice, sets the dish over the top with a blast of exotic intrigue.

John Miele’s desserts (all $9) are somewhat disappointing by contrast. Banana halves wrapped in kataifi, the shreddedwheat-like pastry, are arid rolls with little taste, although the scoop of lemon frozen yogurt beside them is wonderful, with intense yogurt flavor. A big polenta cake is dense and even drier. I’m sure the chocolate tart filled with caramel sells briskly, but it lacks any detail that would make it special. The surprise standout is a Turkish yogurt cake, like a cheesecake but more complex, sauced with rhubarb purée and pine-nut paste, and deliciously nuanced.

The arsenal of $14 cocktails is mostly more weird than delicious, like a martini with a spritz of Scotch, or a melange of absinthe, brandy, calvados, and triple sec. Categories like “Agile” and “Attractive” provide paltry guidance through 11 pages of wines, but the chef’s own informal and informative annotations for each bottle (“light, soulful, and completely addictive”) more than compensate, making a smart list much friendlier.

Amalia is a restaurant of many moods, and, despite its strengths, having a good time there isn’t a sure thing. Here are some pointers. The stress falls on the third syllable of the name, according to the staff. Eat early, before the music is cranked way up. Order dishes that have a lot going on — they won’t disappoint. The side dishes are twice the size of the appetizers but not as interesting. Skipping dessert isn’t a major loss. After the meal, step over to the Dream Hotel lobby and marvel at the aquarium.

Amalia (204 W. 55th St., between Seventh Avenue and Broadway, 212-245-1234).