The best bartenders have a precision that pervades their work as they create eloquent, balanced inventions from a circumscribed palette of ingredients. That generalization applies even when the work in question isn’t mixing drinks: as, for example, at Employees Only, the new West Village restaurant owned and operated by a team of experienced bartenders, including the press-friendly Dushan Zaric, who has worked for the savvy Keith McNally at Schiller’s Liquor Bar, Pravda, and elsewhere. The details of Employees Only feel tightly thought-out and controlled, but such purposefulness can accentuate both the good and the less good aspects of the concept. That concept is to resurrect certain idyllic glories of the last century: its cocktails, its decorum – while never lapsing into humorless preciosity.

An underutilized tarot reader sits in the front window under a glowing “Psychic” sign; past her station is the long, fireplace-lit bar, which is staffed by energetic men with manicured moustaches and embroidered chefs’ whites. Tiered tin ceilings, artful recessed lighting, retro motifs in curvaceous dark wood, and atmospheric music all contribute to a clubby, classy ambiance that is the restaurant’s stock in trade. There is a brief sensation of having stepped back in time several decades, until the fashionable, unmistakably 2005 clientele impairs the illusion.

Beyond the bar area, up a couple of steps, is the dining room, where red tables sit under a skylight among displays of picturesque bar paraphernalia. The illusion of retro grandeur suffers another severe blow in this room: though luxurious decor and cocktails abound, the genuine luxuries of space and seclusion are harshly absent. By 8 p.m. on any night, the bar area is crammed with standing people, and the closely arranged dining room becomes as neighborly as a subway car. The tables are too many and too congested, and even with fewer, the tiny, close room’s impersonation of a generous lounge would be feeble. Too much proximity detracts jarringly from the ease and comfort that the finely tuned restaurant otherwise cultivates so well. When the weather gets warmer, a back garden may offer some breathing room.

Overcrowding issues aside, the level of competence at the restaurant is impressive. It’s hard to find better cocktails than these, which mingle recherche nostalgia and innovation deliciously. All cost $12. The house Manhattan harks back to an original, sweeter recipe, with a splash of orange liqueur and orange peel on top of dry Wild Turkey Rye. The same rye shows a gentler side in the Ruby Tuesday, where it’s shaken with cherry puree and aromatic Benedictine liqueur for a tart, fruity drink. The Provencale features lavender-infused gin and Cointreau. More refreshing concoctions include the Ginger Smash, in which fresh ginger and cranberries are muddled in gin, and a terrific, zingy Pimm’s Cup made with ginger soda, lime, and fresh mint.

The hearty, savory food has an Old World feel as well, lightened somewhat by the freshness of the ingredients. The simple starters mostly don’t require cooking: salads, fresh oysters, antipasti. Served with a nutty palacinka pancake, a tiny flask of chilled akvavit, and gobs of creme fraiche, the sweetish house cured gravlax appetizer ($13) mingles northern and eastern European influences in a pleasing but small portion. A charcuterie platter ($15) shows the heritage of the Belgrade-born Mr. Zaric, and represents a good, distinctive direction for a menu that’s sometimes generic: it features kulen, a bold, garlicky cured sausage; translucent, delicate slices of smoked pork neck and loin; a varying cheese; and ajvar, the Serbian red-pepper spread.

The restaurant’s steak tartare ($14) attracts attention for its presentation as much as its quality: at tableside, the server shows off a bowl of blood-red chopped filet mignon topped with a raw egg, then adds Worcestershire and hot sauces, mustard, shallots, capers, and salt, and mixes it all assiduously before serving. The salty, savory condiments give the dish ample character: if, as sometimes happens, the unctuous blandness of the raw beef comes through too much, requesting an extra helping of, say, the capers, is a good idea.

Entrees follow a basic meat-and-starch template. Osso buco ($25) is a big, flavorful shank whose meat yields lushly under the fork, releasing robust braising juices into the rich bed of polenta underneath. Black olives mixed into the marrow in the bone give an additional dose of flavor. Roasted organic chicken ($21) has a crisp, fatty skin covering moist flesh, and a succulent base of creamy mashed potatoes larded with porcini mushroom bits. In one of the more creative dishes, golden glazed pieces of monkfish ($21) are tossed in a buttery sauce with Brussels sprouts, chunks of pancetta, and slivers of salty preserved lemon. (But the skimpy portion size, half that of most other entrees here, makes one question the wisdom that dictates an elegantly streamlined menu offering no side dishes.) On a slightly lighter note, a topping of breadcrumbs gives a rich, toasty flavor to baked rigatoni ($17), cooked with delicately soft pieces of parsnip and squash and enfolded in silky ricotta cheese.

At a restaurant run by veteran bartenders and cocktail consultants, wine isn’t really the point. (To an extent, food isn’t either.) But about 25 bottles can be had by those who want them, including Benton-Lane’s artful Oregon pinot ($45) and an adolescent, grenache-laden 2001 Domaine de Vieux Telegraphe ($105).

The dessert course shows a touch of whimsy, with treats (all $8) such as a modest vanilla ice-cream sandwich made with two large, chewy chocolate-chip cookies and served in a paper wrapper, or sweet, crisp-pastried pear strudel served with thick honey drizzled Greek yogurt. But it’s just as nice to finish up with one last cocktail: the dessert like Kumquat Sangaree, in which whole allspice berries float in a glass of fruity, faintly sweet champagne along with candied kumquat rind.

Except when external factors interfere, the meticulous attention to detail here pays off, with superlative cocktails, well-executed, coherent food, and a handsome, though cramped, space. The restaurant only stumbles when its attempts at finesse, however skillful, make no allowance for reality: it’s inevitably hard to conjure Mr. McNally’s brand of glib dandyism in a place this small. Sacrificing some of the affectation and polish for a little more idiosyncratic character wouldn’t be a bad thing: more Serbian specialties (cevapcici, perhaps?) could be a fine start.

Employees Only, 510 Hudson St., 212-242-3021.