When the Spotted Pig opened in January 2004, it filled a cozy West Village niche. Chef April Bloomfield, with Mario Batali as a partner, created a faithful copy of an English gastropub, serving simple but rigorously good food in a no-frills style. But almost two years later, following a move to members-only Soho House, a premature move out again, and the bestowal last month of a single Michelin star, the Pig has somewhat lost its way.

Luxurious comfort is generally considered to be among Michelin’s closely guarded criteria, and the Spotted Pig has none of that. Envisioned as a casual neighborhood spot, it takes no reservations, so a typical weeknight sees an hour-long wait for the low, tightly packed milking stools that pass for seats. Waiting customers are encouraged to cluster five-deep at the bar, turning the narrow entrance into an obstacle course. Once seated, diners are rushed through their meals by the impeccably friendly but clearly overtaxed staff. One night in the middle of a meal, our server politely denied us a second course, citing kitchen policy and hustling us out the door hungry and angry.

But ’tis the season for hearty, rustic food, and that’s what the Spotted Pig does best. A glance around the room shows at least one burger ($15) on nearly every table: The plump beef patty gets additional savor from a mound of Roquefort melted on top. Best-of-breed shoestring fries come alongside, a big nest of crisp-chewy ones cooked, with fresh rosemary and thin-sliced garlic, to perfection. Other menu staples are just as good, and almost as popular, like a super-creamy haddock chowder ($13): Its smoked-fish flavor blooms lavishly in the mouth, accompanied by the crunch of housemade crackers. Ricotta gnudi ($12) show the menu’s Italian side: Like ravioli, without the wrapper, these are rich little dumplings doused in cream and drizzled with brown butter but still full of faintly tart ricotta flavor. Good flavor is a given with this much butterfat, but the delicately firm texture is excellent as well.

Portion sizes vary drastically from one dish to the next; this is problematic because of the aforementioned ban on ordering seconds. The menu’s headings – “bar snacks,” “plates,” and “sides” – offer little help. Four heaping chicken-liver crostini ($7), for example, lie in the first category but outweigh many of the “plates.” They’re terrific: crusty bread heavily smeared with fatty, oniony, coarsely chopped liver. Other, tinier snacks, like rollmop herrings ($6.50) and halved boiled duck’s egg ($3) with shavings of dried tuna roe are great as well.

Despite the restaurant’s name and pig-centric decor, a few sheets of pink prosciutto ($14) are one of the animal’s few representatives on the plate here. They’re served with savory radishes, which, roasted, take on the firm bite of potatoes. Tiny, nearly boneless quail ($14 for one, $26 for two) are sauteed to a golden savor, and seasoned with abundant salt and pepper that highlights their moist meat. A few figs and onions add sweetness to the sparse plate. A skimpy but delicious celery salad ($13) spotlights a fine vegetable too often limited to supporting roles. Here it’s sliced, its almost bitter keenness enhanced by a rich lemony dressing. A roasted filet of sea bass ($20) might be the menu’s zenith, with lush, firm meat in a crunchy skin, complemented with creamy-textured cranberry beans – a simple and lovely meal.

The dark chocolate nemesis cake that Ms. Bloomfield borrowed from her previous employer, London’s River Cafe, when she opened the Spotted Pig is still here, rich as ever. Joining it on the dessert list (they’re all $7) is a prune tart – really just a few Armagnac-macerated prunes seated in a wedge of superbuttery, crumby pastry. Creme Catalan rings familiar changes on cremes brulee and caramel, while a minimal cheese plate satisfies without really stimulating the senses.

Beer ($6 a glass) is the drink of choice here. The Spotted Pig ale is thin and skippable, but there are delicious options, too, like richly foamy Old Speckled Hen, a cask-conditioned Fuller’s, and the tan, caramelly Brownstone Ale from Brooklyn’s Sixpoint brewery. There’s plenty of wine, too: 75 bottles, including ones from teammate Joe Bastianich’s own Friulian estate, a juicy tocai ($11/$40), a white blend ($48), and the intense, well-regarded “Calabrone” red blend ($95).

The crowding may be improved somewhat with the imminent conversion of what used to be a VIP lounge upstairs into additional tin-ceilinged dining space. Still, no matter how good its food may be, fame – deserved or undeserved – has transformed the old Spotted Pig into a sort of paradox. It wears the trappings of a relaxed, welcoming hangout, but the harsh glare of the spotlight (starlight?) has made it anything but.

The Spotted Pig, 314 W. 11th St. at Greenwich Street, 212-620-0393.