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Cottle Village, which opened in early June on Highway N east of the Highway K-Page Avenue Extension interchange, is a hit. Whether you need the parking shuttle or find a space in the not-small lot, the project’s ambition is obvious. Stephen and Emily Savage have transformed the former Kurtz Nursery and Farm property into a two-level restaurant and event space with 270 seats inside and a patio as well as a separate distillery and an outdoor area with a stage for live music.

Stephen Savage is no stranger to sprawling ventures. He co-founded the trio of downtown venues the Wheelhouse, the Midwestern and the late Start Bar. (He is no longer involved with those spots.)

Though the Wheelhouse and the Midwestern have built their brands as nightlife destinations, both once boasted culinary aspirations. The original Wheelhouse was a better-than-typical sports bar in Clayton, while the Midwestern debuted with barbecue from acclaimed chef Ben Welch (now of Lucy Quinn and Little Lucy).

Cottle Village’s restaurant is more upscale than either of those establishments aimed to be, but it isn’t fancy. With its stone fireplace and exposed wood beams, the expansive, airy dining room evokes a rustic lodge or the building’s prior life as a farmhouse or a center for corporate retreats. The lack of décor lets your imagination fill in the details.

While you can spend more than $50 on a ribeye here, the non-steak dinner entrees range from $28-$32 — a reasonable spread these days. And if you do order the ribeye, it includes your choice of two sides, a welcome change of pace from the a-la-carte steakhouse model. The ribeye is prime beef from Ruth Family Farms in Downing in northeast Missouri and delivers the cut’s trademark blend of succulence and brawn, which the kitchen deepens with a good (if not comprehensive) char.

With my ribeye, I ordered sides of mac and cheese and Brussels sprouts with bacon in a balsamic vinegar reduction. This plate could represent the menu as a whole. Chef Jonathan Quint isn’t aiming for fussy, let alone challenging, fare, but traditionally satisfying dishes several steps above standard-issue.

The mac and cheese risks sparking a cheese-blend arms race with its swanky mix of smoked gouda, Parmesan, cheddar, taleggio and Gruyère. For good measure, the kitchen broils the crock’s top layer of cheese a la French onion soup. There is thick mac and cheese, and then there is mac and cheese in which your fork can stand upright. The no-brainer duo of Brussels sprouts and bacon actually tastes of Brussels sprouts first, with bacon as one accent, the tannic bite of the balsamic as another.

Snappy, blistered haricots verts are another standout side. The restaurant’s vegetables are impressive enough (save for the limp cauliflower, cooked but chilled, served alongside an appetizer of hummus) that I wish at least one entree here featured them.

Cottle Village’s main courses favor bold flavors over finesse: beef short ribs braised in a silky port-wine sauce, roast chicken slathered in an umami-bomb combination of sauteed mushrooms in a chicken demi glace. Only after several happy bites does this approach become fatiguing, and you start wishing for more prominent aromatics in the short ribs, a crisper skin on the chicken.

In addition to these dinner-only dishes, the menu offers what it calls “lighter entrees� for both lunch and dinner. More casual is a better description. The burger is lighter than, say, a Ford F-150, an 8-ounce patty with cheese and bacon on a pillowy potato bun. (This doesn’t even account for the heaping side of crisp fries that accompanied my son’s order.) The menu can label it however it likes. I’m happy to have another not-smash burger to recommend.

A fried chicken sandwich is now as obligatory as a burger. The kitchen sauces its chicken in a honey-buffalo sauce that hits the expected notes of sweet and piquant without being too cloying or sharp and, crucially, that doesn’t soak the chicken’s crunchy breading.

I misspoke. My visits to Cottle Village did present one challenge: Should I order a crab cake in Cottleville? I did so, reluctantly. To my surprise, the two crab cakes, modestly portioned as appetizers, delivered maximum crab meat and minimal filler. The sweet crab, browned on the cake’s surface but not obscured by any breading, didn’t even need the plate’s garnishes of spinach and tangy remoulade.

Not only would I return to Cottle Village for these crab cakes, I would happily ride the shuttle from the offsite parking lot. Then again, I might not need the shuttle. The project will be growing further. The Savages have already gotten the land and the necessary approval to add a second, 150-car parking lot.