Although everyone wants to eat in the raucous downstairs dining room, it’s upstairs, in the gallery with a bookshelf that spans an entire wall, where things are calm enough to appreciate the micro engineering that goes into Casey Lane’s food. His is a style of fluency: market-driven and pastoral but conveyed with compressed force. Curly-eared gigli pasta is slung with fennel sausage and rapini pesto. What he calls “chicories” is an amalgam of radicchio and frisée tossed in a vinaigrette of balsamic and tesa—a rindless, center-cut bacon. So there’s a suggestion of fat in the greens, but it doesn’t mask their delicious bitterness. The fragility of halibut flaking in a mix of fresh peas and vermouth butter reveals Lane’s fabulous range.