As at many a Chinese restaurant, hanging ducks greet visitors to Mainland. Here, though, they have a glamorous room to themselves, behind a picture window, where they roast in a fruitwood-fired oven under the care of an expert. Brian Young, Mainland’s chef, imported the oven from Beijing, where he also studied the theory and practice of Peking duck. The newest addition to the city’s New Chinese category, Mainland is among the most classical: Its dishes play around with tradition but never flout it.

The picturesque oven is characteristic of the restaurant’s rococo, expensive look. Past a bright cocktail lounge (which offers prime viewing of the oven), two below-ground dining rooms make the most of their low ceilings, with deep red banquettes, warm lighting, and abundant dragons, Buddhas, and such. Panels of large tiles bearing a variety of Asian illustrations give color to the space, which is permeated by a faint smell of wood smoke.

The menu is slightly ungainly, with shareably large starters listed in non-parallel categories like “Lightly Cooked,” “Salads,” and “Dumplings, Rolls & Noodles,” and main courses divided into seafood and meats. The service, which can vary from awful to adept, shouldn’t be counted on for guidance – or even, sometimes, to bring what’s requested, although when the stars align, the team does a fine, professional job. One of the best starters uses roast duck – the bits that don’t make it to prime time – in a stir-fry ($14): They’re tossed with pine nuts, shiitake mushrooms, and bits of dried cherry. A couple of lettuce leaves come alongside for making handheld wraps, the traditional fate of Peking duck leftovers. A clay-pot stew of clams, mussels, and cockles ($12) is excellent, too, with a delicate but rich ocean flavor. And Mr. Young gives shark’s-fin soup ($15) an inventive twist, confining the smooth, toothsome shreds of fin within a steamed fist-sized dumpling sunk in a bowl of salty “prime broth.” The shark’s fin, largely tasteless but prized for its texture, thickens the broth when the dumpling, which is packed with tender shrimp as well, is cleft with a spoon.

But a number of dishes fall far short of expectations. The optimistic diner may order fried lamb spring rolls ($11) thinking they can’t possibly be as heavy as they sound. This is a weighty mistake. The hot rolls’ crisp skins are tightly packed with chewy ground lamb: A good idea in theory, but on the plate they are dense, greasy, and lifeless. A scattering of ma-la pickled cucumbers and cabbage on the plate provides a keen flavor contrast to the rolls’ meaty payloads, but the negligibly small pool of mustard dipping sauce has little impact.

The star of the main courses, of course, is the Peking duck. A whole duck costs $49; a half is $26. Along with the duck, that money buys chopped scallions and cucumbers; dark, sweet plum sauce; pancakes to wrap it all in; and an ample helping of pomp. When the big moment comes, a roast duck wheels up to the table on a cart, manned by an expert in a greasy apron who swiftly renders the cart’s golden-brown passenger into neat slices of meat and skin, ready to be wrapped and eaten. After the man and his cart roll away, a waiter (if one’s around) demonstrates how to wrap some meat, some skin, and just a smidgen of cucumber on a sauce-smeared pancake. Only then can you begin to eat.

And how is it? Well, that’s a matter of preference. Many cooks give their ducks a quick bath in a wok of boiling oil, which renders out more of the subcutaneous fat and crisps the skin beautifully. Some duck purists consider this to be cheating, but it’s hard to argue with the paper-brittle consistency and salty caramelized flavor of the skins thus attained. The ducks’ skins at Mainland, by contrast, have a thicker layer of fat, a lighter color, and a semi-crisp surface that quickly fades to flabbiness as they sit on the plate. The meat, sealed in by the skin’s glaze and long-cooked, has a soft, steamed consistency and mildly gamy flavor. This, too, may be more authentic than the Chinatown ducks I’m used to, but the complex, rich, firmer meat of the latter is undeniably classic. The sauce is superlative, thick and complex; the pancakes are on the over-steamed side.

Other main courses deserve attention in turn, like a whole fish of the day ($29) that’s grilled and dressed with both a citrus vinaigrette and spicy, savory XO sauce; and a beautiful filet of pale, succulent Alaskan cod glazed with miso and served on a bed of sauteed sesame noodles ($28). In a classic preparation, “red-cooked” short ribs ($26) are braised with soy sauce and star anise; Mainland’s version includes three large ribs, a huge helping. They’re tremendously tender but the sauce is altogether too in tense; dipping the accompanying bun like bread in the deep-red pool yields a shuddersome mouthful of salt.

Desserts (all $9) range from light to overstuffed, with a layered “steamed coffee pudding souffle” and a huge white chocolate macadamia pot de creme on the latter end. The lighter desserts, which are more complementary to the meal, include a delicate cold lime-coconut soup filled with eyeball-like jelly balls, and a texturally pleasing white-tea semifreddo.

The sizable wine list offers lots of pinot noirs and lots of chardonnays. Glasses include good pinots from Syren ($10) and Bethel ($12), and a fine August Kessler riesling ($10). These suit the keenly flavored dishes, although beer makes a more classic complement to the duck. Julia Martin, whose heady, complex cocktails add a pleasant whimsy to meals at Devi, has outdone herself here, with drinks like the Emperor’s Laugh ($12), made with black tea, ginger syrup, lemon, and bourbon; and 3 Kingdoms ($12), in which three rums and fresh pineapple juice evoke tropical China.

Mainland’s footing is strong, but there’s definite room for improvement. It has all the advantages of a big, professional restaurant, including a large menu and wine list, elaborately handsome design, and of course its imported oven, but the act as a whole has yet to come together. When waiters bustle everywhere while no table seems to be getting what they want, it’s a sign not that the restaurant is underpowered but that it needs adjustment. And, although a plurality of the dishes could not be better, a number decidedly could. Mainland has fine potential to become a New York fixture, if it can get more of its ducks in a row.

Mainland, 1081 Third Ave., between 63rd and 64th streets, 212-888-6333.