Rosanjin Kitaoji, a Japanese restaurateur of the early 20th century, was so dedicated to his meals’ completeness that, in his quest for the ideal tableware, he became a noted ceramicist and art collector. Jungjin Park named his TriBeCa restaurant in celebration of the man’s legendary exigence. Rosanjin opened last fall as a delivery and catering service, bringing beautifully prepared, elegantly packaged Japanese dishes to Lower Manhattan doorsteps. In December, the restaurant tackled new avenues of refined presentation when it opened its doors to sit-down visitors.

The room is stately and hushed but not somber. Its heavy, oversized tables are spaced a luxurious distance apart. Where the average restaurant would easily cram in twice as many seats, here there’s so much breathing room that even when someone at a neighboring table answers a cell-phone call, it hardly disrupts the peaceful mood.

The only meal offered is a multi-course dinner that changes with the seasons and the whim of the chef. This is kaiseki, elegant Japanese art cuisine. When I went, we had nine courses for $150. Mr. Park’s tall, suited presence is constant, welcoming guests at the door, refilling Riedel glasses, and explaining nuances of the food. First to the table came a constellation of four small bowls, all cold. A thin slice of chewy clam and a tiny wedge of brussels sprout in briny jelly occupied the center position. It was flanked by a rosy cube of delicate, rich monkfish liver, on its own in a little pedestaled cup; a bouquet of barely seared raw scallop, superbly fresh, with a sprig of crunchy fried lotus root and a single pomegranate seed, and a dish of mushroom, tofu skin, and a unique honeycomb-like brick of fish roe that burst between the teeth into salty, crunchy fragments. That’s just the first course.

Each round was brought, and cleared away, by a rather formal duo: one man to hold a tray of food, the other to convey dishes from the tray to their precise positions on the table. The cold starters gave way to a clear soup — a traditional kaiseki staple — filled with crunchy shreds of shark fin and a flawless little slice of rich cooked cod. Next came a sushi course, served on crushed packed ice and confettied with carrot spirals and a sprig of flowers. It included a piece of white, firm squid, silvery skin-on mackerel, and remarkable fatty tuna, with coarse-ground real wasabi, whose scent rose from the dish dramatically. There was a chink in the perfection, though: The fish stuck to the ice, so in trying to lift a piece with the lovely cedarwood chopsticks, I wound up dragging the whole ice-filled dish around on its lacquered tray. In another course, of pale pink toro tuna draped over rice, the fish had the luxurious consistency of pastry cream, and a deep marine flavor. It’s typically around the third or fourth course of a kaiseki meal that a pervasive sense of well-being starts to set in, and Rosanjin was right on schedule. Mellow, rhythmic Japanese pop music accompanied the effect.

The careful service duo next brought a deep-fried prawn, in three sections: meaty shrimp tail; leggy, meatless carapace, and crunchy hollow head, all hotly sizzling on a mesh rack, and perfectly suited to one of the restaurant’s handful of crisp beer or sake selections. Also on the rack came a neat tempura-fried envelope of creamy semi-cooked sea urchin enclosed in a minty shiso leaf: a succulent treat that made me wish it were the sort of casual restaurant where one could pause the parade and order a dozen of them. But part of the beauty of kaiseki is just that: It works as a metaphor for the inexorability of life and the seasons.

A grilled skin-on mackerel filet came with a weird, super-salty accent of crumbly cured roe — “a real delicacy in Japan,” the host explained — along with a tiny cube of smoked tuna, a puff of rice candy, and a pennant of gold leaf. After that peak of intense flavor, the meal wound down slowly over three more courses. A lidded casserole contained maitake mushrooms and steamed fish with a consistency that manages to be both flaky and custardy, wrapped in turnip and awash in the gently piney odor of mitsuba, a distinctive Japanese herb. A pair of toasted rice balls offered a traditional, filling finish, before the trays that had been on the table all along were removed, and replaced with an approximation of dessert: a miniature flute of melon purée, a sesame custard, and a chocolate truffle served in a tiny goblet. After the meal’s ups and downs, the quiet, barely sweet finish was something of a letdown.

An experience this immersive and idiosyncratic is hard to rate objectively. Rosanjin’s is the priciest kaiseki meal I’ve had in the city, and the farthest downtown — facts which may be linked — and it’s very fine, but it does not inspire awe commensurate with its price and focus on details. The eight-course dinner served at Sugiyama, on West 55th Street, is perhaps more transporting, and, at only $68, that’s a voyage you can take twice as often.

Rosanjin (141 Duane St., between Church and West Broadway, 212-346-0664)