Every restaurant would be great if it weren't for customers. All of that pandering to their finicky tastes, babyish preferences, and bizarre dietary needs can suck the marrow right out of the fiercest chefs. The urban oasis Peter's Inn lists six or so items on its chalkboard, and that's that. The menu, which changes weekly, typically includes one appetizer (maybe Thai beef salad in cucumber cups, hope you like it), a seafood or fish dish, something with chicken or pasta, and a steak--a really great steak, prepared, maybe with shallots, peppercorns, and brandy butter. So you pays your money, and you takes your chances, and it inevitably pays off. The food is nourishing and imaginative, but truly not fussy. Co-owner Karin Tiffany runs the kitchen, and the only concessions she makes are to the seasons--if tomatoes aren't looking good this week, they're off the menu; if leeks are peaking, let's use them. How about the soup? Maybe in winter. Dessert? Usually not. The restaurant space itself--a few tables in the front bar, a few more in a square dining room--is a tumble-down affair, not even particularly comfortable. This is not a temple for fine dining (temples are for praying), it's a bar with the most reliably sane kitchen in town.

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