When the chef’s name is on a restaurant’s front door, it’s a safe bet that the food will be pretty individualistic, too. But while places like Daniel and Jean-Georges brim over with their chefs’ engorged personalities, Telepan is resolutely untheatrical. Bill Telepan has such a nimble way of stepping aside to let the ingredients show their stuff that the restaurant’s impact doesn’t sink in until the food is in one’s mouth. The understated space offers little clue to the uninitiated as to how generously their palates are about to be doted on.

Freshness is a popular mantra these days, but here Mr.Telepan makes the gospel palpable, as he did for years at JUdson Grill. His dishes are never flamboyant, but even the smallest ingredients show superlative quality (where else can you pointedly savor the bite of a chive garnish?), and the chef’s arsenal of subtle tricks gives them perfectly focused spotlights in which to shine. There is a chasm between what you picture when you read “poached egg” on the menu and the actual experience of eating Mr. Telepan’s poached egg.

The menu is designed in three courses, with “mid courses” separating appetizers from entrees. There are about 10 dishes in each category. This practice is both flexible and perplexing, especially as the wealth of mouthwatering options makes it painful to narrow down one’s choices. Sharing a few dishes works, but the unadvertised tasting menu provides a smoother approach. Fifty-five dollars buys a course from each section, plus dessert, in slightly diminished portions; an extra $10 adds a cheese course.

If anything benefits especially from freshness, it is seafood. And not coincidentally, there’s a lot of it at Telepan. The tiny bay scallops ($16.50) are nothing like the firm, bland scallops that litter the city’s tables: These are buttery nuggets of intense, sweet flavor, luxuriating with croutons and mushrooms in a mild cream sauce. House-smoked trout ($12.50) is a holdover from JUdson; the thin-sliced fish is piled on a thick blini whose hearty, semi-bitter buckwheat essence sets off the trout’s deluxe, mouth-filling flavor.

In lobster “bolognese” ($26), among the mid-courses, the lobster plays a strong role, but the real story of the dish is about harmony among the shellfish, the coarse tomato sauce with plenty of shallots, the small tangle of spaghetti, and the piles of fresh tarragon (which almost steal the show). An entree of monkfish “paprikas” ($25) is no relative of my mother’s renowned chicken paprikas, a savory red morass of onions and paprika. Telepan’s version is many degrees lighter: The crisped fish is left to its own tender devices, with just a little swirl of paprika-infused oil, while a side of barley-stuffed cabbage winks in the direction of Eastern Europe.

Meaty entrees have their day as well. Often a few pieces of one animal will share a plate, as in the pork cassoulet ($26.50). The dish is a whirlwind tour of a pig: fatty, succulent belly; garlicky, tender kielbasa; austerely satisfying loin, and a dark, dense, and earthy confit. The accompanying white beans are intact but slow-cooked to such creaminess that just a harsh glance melts them. Lamb chops ($33) are paired with braised “24-hour shoulder” that takes on a heady sweetness; the organic chops aren’t as tender as some, but make up for it with vivacious flavor. The delicate foie-gras custard accompanying a duck breast ($29.50) plays up the rich gaminess of the juicy seared meat.

Larissa Raphael’s desserts finish the meal with verve. A parfait of thick yogurt layered with quince granita ($9) is doused in prosecco for a jumble of sweet, tart, and creamy flavors. Fragrant sherry laces a firm custard ($9); the tuile on top tastes like pecan pie. Sweet-glazed brioche forms the shell for profiteroles ($10) filled with caramel-swirled ice cream and sauced with apple and rum.

Considering the tirelessly prowling sommelier, the 15-page list, and the central glassed-in cellar visible from throughout the restaurant, wine service is a rather unobtrusive part of the meal. Servers don’t plunk down the list automatically; they ask whether monsieur would like to see it. The California-France-Italy balance is fairly even, the price points vastly ranging, and a focus on obscure bottles maintains a sense of adventure. Special features include spotlights on organic wines, raisinated grapes, and 1997 Californians. Twenty-five by-the-glass options, neatly organized by character, range from Kunin’s classically lush “Pape Star” ($14) and Chateau Montvac’s gleaming white Vacqueyras ($13) to populist $8 and $9 glasses of Rapitala’s superripe Nuhar and a clean, limestony Macon-Ige from Domaine Fichet.

If restaurants have their seasons,Telepan is going to be at its best in the spring, when the bounty of young produce matches the wealth of Mr. Telepan’s skill and sly imagination. But it’s quietly dazzling anytime; that skill meshes so seamlessly with the raw materials that fanfare would be gratuitous.

Telepan, 72 W. 69th St., between Columbus Avenue and Central Park West, 212-580-4300.