Contemporary restaurant chefs are of two minds. Those who want to make it big, with celebrity status and endorsements, or those with tidier aspirations. Laura Butler, more widely known in our parts by her restaurant moniker, Rachel’s, seems to have hit her stride with the tidy operation she and husband Robert operate.

In a city teeming with citadels of pocket-sized dining haunts Rachel’s towers over her Lilliputian peers. It was one of the few places I’ve been to recently that I could actually call delightful.

Against all odds, I was determined to go there the other night, in the middle of a snow storm when saner options should have prevailed. We scraped along the quiet, deserted streets until we arrived at an ignominious stretch of Woodford’s off Brighton Avenue, where Rachel’s is discreetly tucked away.

Laura Butler is hardly a newcomer to Portland’s restaurant hierarchy. She operated for years as Rachel’s Wood Grill on Exchange Street and had a short, if not jarring stint at the Danforth Inn in Portland before decamping to the base of the Deering Highlands.

I had no expectations whatsoever. I had skimmed over a few reviews in various publications, but none moved me to run right over. I had been to her Exchange Street place years before and remember liking it. Lately, though, there’s been a quiet buzz about the new Rachel’s. I was curious to see for myself.

When the snow started falling that day I called to be sure they were open and if reservations were necessary.

Her reply was, “I am expecting some people tonight and it would be helpful to know if you’re coming. “

How cute, I thought, as though I was dining at someone’s home.

“How about seven?” I suggested, feeling like I was negotiating a date.

“Make it six-forty-five,” Laura said.

We arrived on the dot.

It’s located amongst a strip of nondescript store fronts populated by a grim line up of a mortgage broker and a real estate office. Rachel’s was the only bright light shining in the darkness of night and falling snow.

As soon as we entered I was amazed how such a small place prevailed to appear so large. I loved the way the front room was set up like a wine bar. It also doubles as extra dining space with highly polished bar-height tables and comfortable chairs. The attractive main dining room has seven well-spaced tables.

I soon discovered that Rachel’s has an extensive wine list, with some very compelling choices. It features mostly Italian and American selections, with a short list of French wines. Full bar service is not available.

Before we were seated I poked my head into the kitchen that’s behind a half wall off the front room. I probably babbled mindless inanities about how much I had been looking forward to coming there. Laura, star of her own one-woman show, thanked me but was too preoccupied with cooking dinner to say much more.

Amazingly, she has no other kitchen help, yet the food arrives at a reasonable pace. The restaurant seats about 35, and the only other attendant in sight is her husband, who greets and serves, aided by a bus girl on busy nights.

We ordered a bottle of the St. Francis Zinfandel, a big Zin with a spicy, rich taste that I figured would complement the food.

Indeed, her cooking style is big and gutsy. Light, delicate wines would go asunder in the path of her heady cuisine.

The calamari, for instance, that three of us ordered to nibble on with our first wine was an energetic rendition of sautéed squid. It arrived bathed in an assertive dressing of extra- virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar, fortified with red peppers, onions and croutons, a crunchy dot afloat in such fine company. Other first courses we had were just as winning. One was asparagus layered with Laura’s own version of flat bread topped with shavings of Fontina. The dish looked like a brace of green spears in a burnished glen. One of our guests had the wild mushroom brushcetta staunchly balanced in a generously herbaceous tomato sauce--cheerful provender for this bold dish.

Portions are large, and it became evident that we were ordering too much food. But we prevailed unabashed.

For our main course we tried a different wine. This one was a formidable Montepulciano, 1995, which Robert informed us was one of the last bottles left. Here was a powerful red, not easily encountered, and reasonably priced. I don’t often drink Italian wines since I’m a confirmed fan of French clarets. This one has made me think otherwise; I’m definitely going to re-acquaint myself with Italian vintages.

My main course of rack of lamb came with 7 chops. There was a smaller version available with 4 chops, which would have been enough. Nonetheless they were perfectly cooked, pink and tender, in a beautiful, bold Cabernet glaze. The vegetable sides included luscious mashed potatoes with copious amounts of butter and cream, steamed spinach and Israeli cous cous, which I thought was overkill. One of our guests ordered the rigatoni in a pork, veal and beef ragu and proceeded to babble in rapturous cadence over its deep flavors and perfect texture. All too often this staple of Italian sauce making is usually botched. I broke the litany, dipped my fork into the ragu and agreed it was faultless. Another inspired main course was roast chicken breast with red peppers and onions. This too accounted for an auspicious silence, as though we were extant in the resonance of such exalted fare.

Desserts were the final option. If we were primed for perfection and ready to waddle back home in seventh heaven, to feign restraint now would be like grappling with reckless, misplaced restraint. The indulgences we chose included a highly conceived pudding of dark and white chocolate and a flourless chocolate torte spiked with Sambuca.

It’s evident that Rachel’s has a loyal following of neighborhood regulars and patrons from other parts. I certainly was easily won over and plan to visit often. And since the menu changes frequently, I can’t wait for the next round, to enjoy another performance from Rachel’s magical kitchen.

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