Cream soup of Jerusalem artichokes is a simple thing to make, especially in its purest form: a puree made from the humble root, some stock and cream, often dressed with brandy or even a splash of truffle oil. All you need is the will and a decent blender.

This basic recipe can tell you everything you need to know about a restaurant. Because cream softens but also yields to dominant flavors and because the subdued nature of Jerusalem artichokes works in much the same way, the soup reveals, in one or two spoonfuls, a kitchen's skill with touchy ingredients, its posture toward guests and so much more.

At the same time, V Zátiší plays to a discerning crowd. Jerusalem artichokes, as any self-styled foodie knows, pair up beautifully with complementary but more forceful flavors. Earthy and wild elements reverberate against them, particularly when tempered by cream. So there are bits of smoked duck throughout the puree and a drizzle of beef jus on top. The resulting combination is intricate with exclamation marks.

That, in one bowl, is V Zátiší. Chef de Cuisine Stanislava Marková and her staff stack restraint on top of subtlety with enough agility to wow gourmands on occasion without overwhelming culinary novices.

For the most part, however, dishes are well-thought-out. Black cod receives backing from mashed parsnips, cocktail shrimp and baby spinach — a clever support group for the feed-the-masses fish, cutting through its slightly fatty flesh without compromising the delicate taste. A modestly portioned rack of lamb stands out as an example of simplicity in exquisite form: very tender, perfectly prepared and densely flavored meat holding at bay a thin herbal crust smacking of violet and surrounded by tarragon, with pepper loitering in the background.

The lamb is just out-and-out good, as is an appetizer of warm "crispy" goat cheese (meaning encased in a golden brown shell) served on a bed of pear relish and fried potato sticks — a medley of textures lulled by soft notes of vanilla from the relish. Somerset Maugham compared a sip of Zubrowka to music by moonlight. Well, V Zátiší's pear concoction is the culinary equivalent, a lilting effusion similar to the lavender and vanilla spell of Poland's incomparable vodka.

The restaurant shut down this summer for remodeling, and there's no missing the new design elements. Each room is distinct and eye-catching, sometimes to the point of distraction. Service is attentive, for the most part, although staring at an empty plate and wadded-up napkin for 17 minutes waiting to settle the bill while wait staff cluster in a doorway admiring the room tends to undermine the entire experience.

But there's a lot to look at here, and perfection, to again paraphrase Maugham, is as difficult as walking a razor's edge.

V Zátiší is not perfect. Ignoring the new finery and service lapses, though, reveals a restaurant teetering along the edge of approachable elegance.