ike a fashion designer who wears only a black turtleneck and jeans, the exterior of the just-opened Rushton is deliberately antistyle. Sporting a simple brick façade and a bold, block letter sign, only the restaurant’s vast wrap-around windows hint at hidden riches. Only a visit allows a closer study of the juicy detail squeezed into this new resto-lounge.

Considering the handling of the exterior of what was previously the Di Maria Market, The Rushton’s interior is long removed from the original depictions of the long-standing fruit store: Frank Lloyd Wright-ish, rock-layered walls, hardwood floors and a large service bar now replace what was a drab room with aisles of produce. Heavy wooden chairs – some antique, some new, some gallery-ish – bare tables and the host station (a butcher block left behind from the original store) showcase archetypal touches that underline the room’s new geometrical motif.

In typical small-plate style, diners are encouraged to share, and plates emerge from the open kitchen as they’re ready. Appetizers aren't the typical calamari and bruschetta food-cost boosters. Instead, they skip that and go straight for the good stuff: a warm potato and spinach salad with healthy doses of caramelized onions and tomatoes. A bittersweet lettuce salad in a dressing of the fattest olive oil topped with the added touch of fresh Atlantic salmon (a less flavourful chicken is another option).

Entrées aren't the expected $23 salmon and $19 chicken quarter; in fact, most plates are offered at two sizes (who does that?). The steak frites, for example (at either $15 or $20) is an unadorned piece of strip steak, tended to be the least remarkable, while difficult dishes like the seared duck breast was very good. Or the Salmon Bake, a whiskey glazed Atlantic salmon served up with a jeweled wild rice salad, is also a good choice.

Wines are priced to drink, not to shock and awe. The whole shebang is served until 1:00 in the morning, so that you can lead your actual life - with your theater, gallery openings, or heaven forbid, kids or work crises that don't let you get out the door until 9:00 - and still have a life with foods of great aspiration and execution.