Good news about Persimmon Kimchi House, from my point of view: Kimchi itself plays a modest role. Nor was there a persimmon in sight the evening I visited, not that I have strong feelings in that regard (although I suspect Koreans might). The fruit makes an appearance in folklore as the hero of the exciting tale, The Tiger and the Dried Persimmon. (Let me give away the ending: The persimmon triumphs.)

Kimchi is the traditional, ubiquitous dish of spicy fermented vegetables, eaten at the start of Korean meals, during Korean meals and, for all I know, at the conclusion of such meals. I never stick around to find out.

It’s a spicy palate-killer, one of the reasons I tend not to patronize Korean restaurants. Another cause of my discomfort is the Korean style of dining, which is generally mix-and-match, everything on the table at once, an overwhelming bounty of the unfamiliar.

Persimmon Kimchi House, in the East Village, calls itself  “neo-Korean.” The food is served in small, discreet courses, and I don’t think I’ve ever been in another restaurant where presentation has made such a difference. The $37, fixed-price, four-course menu transforms Korean cuisine, making it not just accessible but fascinating.

Chef-owner Youngsun Lee has a few touches I’d call “nouvelle” rather than “neo,” and they are not my favorites. Much to my surprise, I preferred the more conventional combinations. I didn’t admire the slightly tough sliced tenderloin with melon sauce—I’m not a meat-and-fruit guy. First-rate grilled scallops were paired with a strawberry kimchi concoction that a Korean friend of mine called “ridiculous.” It was perhaps the only time we’ve been in agreement when discussing her beloved national cuisine.

For the most part, Lee repackages Korean food with sophistication and finesse, and he does so without making it appear particularly westernized. Small portions, extraordinary care, and fine ingredients go a long way. The restaurant is small, consisting of one long, communal table that seats 20, a few counter stools facing the open kitchen, and the kitchen itself, which takes up about half the room. That’s a lot of kitchen, but a lot of cooking goes on.

That table is a wonderful chunk of rustic, polished wood, something Martha Stewart might have picked out for her dining room had she lived in Seoul. The walls are white, the artwork barely noticeable. Each diner gets a backless stool, a red place mat, a soup spoon, and metal chopsticks. Water is served in what looked to me like tea glasses, and wine (BYOB) is served in what looked to me like water glasses. It’s refined—but it’s also crowded and noisy.

I tried more than half the dishes on the menu and went away wondering when I could get in again. (It’s gotten very popular very fast, but I think that’s because it’s been written up as an alternative to the inaccessible Momofuku Ko, which it resembles hardly at all.)

Two of the best starters are fried squash blossoms stuffed with a scallop-tofu filling, and thin, skinless strips of eggplant in a complicated, crunchy, Korean-crouton sauce. Both are delicate and engaging, and you’ll look forward to what lies ahead. Spicy, sautéed baby octopus in a red-pepper sauce might be the best dish on the menu, and I usually avoid octopus. (Squash blossoms, eggplant, and octopus are all beloved by Koreans.)

I don’t want to overstate my assimilation, but I even found the kimchi stew acceptable.

Should you arrive really hungry, you might want order chicken-in-the-pot, although here it’s called ginseng chicken soup. It costs $5 extra, and by my rudimentary calculations provides about five times as much food as any other main course. It could only have been better had the broth been richer.

I wasn’t so thrilled with dessert. I swear what I got was cold plain soupy rice water followed by hot sweet soupy rice water. When I told my Korean friend about it, she got excited, claiming it was a homestyle dish served only to the fortunate. Well, I suppose something had to confound me or it wouldn’t have been authentically Korean.

277 East 10th Street (near Avenue A), New York, NY; 212-260-9080