Inconsistency has been a problem for Sahara Café from the start.

The room exudes a warmth and comfort unusual to Prague. Yet managers can be less than personable, and some staff members are visibly strained to show anything more than passing interest in dinner guests. Food service teeters between astonishingly good and downright inept. For some months after the restaurant opened last spring, the menu even included a disclaimer begging forgiveness for botched orders or overcooked meats.

Sahara Café's new garden restaurant is lodged underneath the original and draped in a similar tasteful earth-tone scheme. But there's a wood-fired grill almost center-stage, and a menu catering to the whims of open flame.

Entrusting such an erratic team with something as capricious as fire seems counterintuitive at first. There are, however, certain advantages to cooking on a grill. For one thing, no matter how often you clean the corrugated surface, hints of charcoal, acrid smoke and the combined residue of meats and vegetables penetrate the grill and express themselves as rich, lusty flavors. When a chef knows how to work a blazing hearth, simple slabs of rib-eye steak transform into austere perfection, smoldering reminders of summertime and backyard barbecues.

That's what you get at Sahara's Garden Restaurant. Ordered rare, the Argentine beef develops a dark, caramelized crust and the seasoning — salt, pepper, olive oil — flows across your tongue as if part of the meat itself, with no distinct origin. But the center on my order turned a warm cerise — not rare by American steakhouse standards, in other words, but no matter. Tender, silken and densely flavored, it is a tremendous steak. Avoid the temptation to spread on the pungent relish served alongside; the mix of olive oil, garlic and peppers clashes with the sylvan taste of beef, riding it down and quickly beating it into submission.

Indeed, most items ordered from their grill are best left unadorned. An entrée of "young" lamb (as opposed to geriatric sheep, presumably) features meat with an earthen quality made to stand out by seasoning deftly handled. No need for cosmetics of rosemary or mint besides a dab here and there. And other than a greedy splash of oil, the side of grilled vegetables is stunningly basic: carrots and such slapped over the flame for a moment or two until a thin veneer of natural sugars start to char, but no longer.

The only item from the grill list that fails to meet expectations is a curious option: roast beef. It's possible, of course, to sear rump steak in order to seal in juices before shoving it into an oven. Conversely, one could finish a hunk of roast meat on the grill for color and additional flavor. Generally speaking, though, this iconic British Sunday dish is oven-bound. Technicalities aside, it's a sinewy, tough and almost inedible cut hidden under a clump of rosemary and not worth the price.

For starters, try the tomato soup, a very meaty, tangy presentation. A pile of croutons of herb-encrusted baguette, shavings of Parmesan, shredded basil and a hefty spoonful of decent olive oil turn this prosaic offering into something mildly impressive — and particularly good for wintertime dining, thanks to a strong impression of pepper. Too bad an eager line cook threw a punitive measure of salt into the batch I ordered on my first visit. The sodium eventually built into a brackish aftertaste.

The two restaurants, upstairs and down, share several dishes. And there's no reason to quibble when it comes to the wonderfully concentrated taste of Patanegra ham. Yet Sahara Café's split personality mostly benefits those who opt to dine downstairs and order from the grill.