A trendy Manhattan restaurant with no gimmick is something of a rare bird these days. But the Little Owl seems to be just that, thriving on a residential West Village corner, without celebrity investors, fanciful presentations, or even a regional specialty.

Really, there’s hardly room for a gimmick. The space is tiny but thoughtfully laid out, with respectful distance among the 10 or so little tables. It only takes half a dozen steps for host and partner Gabriel Stulman to cross the room, which he does nonstop, seating parties, checking umbrellas, pouring wine, answering phones, and ministering encouragingly to the line out front.

As though to compensate for the small space, the flavors are enormous, thanks in part to a hot grill and top-notch ingredients. Joey Campanaro, the chef and co-owner, prepares a punchy menu of American-Mediterranean dishes that neatly show off their ingredients without an excess of fuss. A superb salad ($10) starts with dazzling warm sliced duck breast, as thin and succulent as prosciutto, then elaborates on the savory theme with mature arugula leaves and shavings of white truffle. Halfway between a pasta dish and a soup, an appetizer of cavatelli ($11) places the toothsome fresh pasta nuggets in a brothy tomato sauce, whose flavor is deepened by hunks of fatty bacon and brightened by fresh green favas. But “gravy meatball sliders” ($9) are a somewhat out-of-place touch of comfort kitsch: three round sandwiches of classic tender three-meat meatballs with a salty sauce. Skewered with toothpicks, they make a shareable appetizer, albeit one that doesn’t quite fit with the genteel, fresh mood of the menu.

The flagship of the entrées is “the pork chop” ($19), which bears the definite article like its fame precedes it, as well it might. It’s an imposing piece of meat, two inches thick and at least three across, and its stint on the grill imparts a crisp texture and smoky flavor to its surface. Inside, the meat is unusually dense-textured and deeply juicy, like pork should be but rarely is. A surrounding sea of firm butter beans in a cheesy sauce, along with bitter wild dandelion greens, gives the chop a solid footing.

The grill also leaves its delectable mark on a whole fish of the day (price varies; my dorade was $24) that is otherwise unadorned. A simple bowl of olives and celery bits comes on the side: It can be eaten as a salad or spooned over the fish. A filet of cod ($18) is broiled with a creamy dressing that turns the fresh fish into a rich luxury, each bite containing a cross-section of browned succulence and pale interior. Its bed of crunchy bright peas and fresh-off-the-cob corn is a simple, exuberantly flavorful testament to summer.

The kitchen only trips up when it takes its strengths too far. An appetizer of lightly seared yellowtail ($10) is doomed by its too-sweet, too-strong honey mustard sauce, through which the fish is impossible to taste. And the grill brings out vivid flavor in a big New York steak (at $26, the menu’s priciest dish), but instead of mitigating its intensity with a mild complement, Mr. Campanaro makes the flavor deeper and deeper, piling on chunks of pancetta and a salty balsamic glaze. The result is tasty but unrelenting, with nothing else on the plate to offer respite from the aggressive savor. It begs for one of the starchy side dishes (all $7): The mashed potatoes would do nicely. Asparagus home fries, another side, sound more interesting than they are, with bits of asparagus tasting like an afterthought among the crisped potatoes. (Best among the side dishes, though it’s useless as a calmative for the steak, is a suave, smoky mini-stew of chewy butter beans and peppery escarole, enriched by chunks of ham hock.)

In a casual, intimate place like this with some entrées priced in the teens, it’d be nice to see a comparably budget-minded bottle of wine, but that is not to be. The choices are eclectic, almost to a fault. Regions off the beaten path commonly signal tasty bargains, but not here: How often do you see a wine list whose priciest glass is Uruguayan? But that $13 tannat is delicious, with a noble balance, and so is the sturdy Portuguese red, the refreshing Greek rosé, and a lovely mellow Graves from Chateau Graville-Lacoste ($11).

Rather than shooting for elaborate, ambitious desserts, the restaurant aims fairly low and hits squarely. The best of the dishes (all $7) is a strawberry custard tart reminiscent of clafoutis, with a smooth, close texture and sweetness that capitalizes on the quality of the fruit. As well as gelati and sorbets, there are also hot, doughy raspberry beignets, whose catchy echo of Prince’s funky classic “Raspberry Beret” might be construed as accidental if not for the framed photo of Rick James in the restroom.

The Little Owl, 90 Bedford St. at Grove Street, 212-741-4695.