DEVILED EGGS AND HAM - We do, we like them, Sam I Am.

Restaurant openings tend to be lame, tightly scripted affairs. Coordinated down to the smallest detail by a battalion of PR flacks, these productions often accomplish the exact opposite of what's intended: namely, to get people excited.

The folks at Crop Bistro obviously had something else in mind for their opening. Commandeering a half-dozen parking spaces out front was a flatbed truck. On board, a lively foursome jammed bluegrass tunes up and down West Sixth. A spontaneous block party erupted on the sidewalk patio, complete with char-grilled burgers, keg beer and hippie spin-dancing. It was as if the Grateful Dead mistook the Warehouse District for Haight-Ashbury.

I took the musical coming-out bash as a refreshing sign that chef and owner Steve Schimoler didn't take himself too seriously. In a city chockful of determined chefs, each scrambling to make the biggest waves, Crop has turned out to be an oasis of fun. And it is quietly but quickly becoming a crowd favorite.

"I've been there and done that when it comes to food," explained Schimoler. "I've survived the nouvelle cuisine of the '80s. I've served dinner to Howard Stern and Mick Jagger. I've been reviewed by the New York Times. What I've learned is that if it's not fun for you and your staff, it's not going to be fun for the customer."

By the age of 23, Schimoler already had his first New York restaurant. Later, he added a bakery, catering company and second restaurant. A gig up north landed the chef in Vermont where he opened the much-admired Mist Grill, a bistro set inside a 200-year-old mill. A job with Nestlé brought Schimoler to Cleveland, and it wasn't long before the restaurant bug once again bit him firm and hard.

Partnering with Joe Santosuosso and Paul Anthony, Schimoler adapted the former Johnny's Bistro space into Crop Bistro. To lighten the mood in the ritzy hall, linens were stripped from tables, arty food photography was splashed across the walls, and a drum kit found its way into a corner of the room. The food has shifted from French-Continental to American comfort food with a twist.

Crop's menu is a joy to contemplate. It is concise but tantalizing, adhering to the less-is-more approach to seduction. Dishes are listed straightforwardly, with none of the flowery descriptions that seem to have become required reading. Instead, knowledgeable servers explain dishes and answer questions.

Schimoler has fun with his food. The cherry bomb ($8) may look like an oversized popper, but rather is a chorizo-and-cheese-stuffed plum tomato that has been wrapped in wonton skins, flash-fried and served in a pool of creamy corn puree. Crop updates the picnic staple deviled eggs ($7) by poaching the egg in tomato-beet broth, giving it an Easter hue, and serving it atop a slice of crisp Serrano ham. A lobster latte ($7) arrives just as one might imagine: an oversize mug filled with frothy lobster-and-truffle-scented broth and foam.

It isn't all whimsy, as evidenced by a perfectly lush but lean flank of pork belly ($11), presented with tender fava beans, pickled onions and corn. Or a farm-fresh salad ($9) made from alternating layers of roasted beet, creamy goat cheese and perky arugula.

Cocktails are as seasonally innovative as the fare. The Caprese martini ($9) is a veritable salad in a glass, with better-than-it-sounds tomato-infused vodka, fresh basil and a garnish of cherry tomato and mozzarella. Other drinks feature watermelon juice, muddled peaches and elderflower.

Schimoler often snubs hot sides in favor of summery salads like fennel slaw, celery root salad and redskin potato salad. The last two accompany a textbook roasted chicken ($18), with white meat as juicy as the dark. Duck two ways ($28) habitually pairs breast and leg confit; Crop swaps the confit for buttery rillettes, crowned by crisp, golden rosti potatoes. Vegetarians are treated to a flaky tarte tatin ($16), topped with a cornucopia of crisp veggies.

There are times when the menu includes too little information, as is the case with the shrimp and black beans ($20). While few can complain about the deftly grilled shrimp, or even the intensely flavored smoky black beans, some will certainly find the dish's spice level an unpleasant surprise.

On a recent night, just as the last dinners were leaving the kitchen, Schimoler made his way to the drum set, where he coolly accompanied a jazz band. Afterwards, he snuck outside for a smoke.

"Cooking in a kitchen is like playing in a band," the chef explained. "When all the players are synched up, the kitchen finds its rhythm. To me, that's music."