Kindle restaurant has personality. Several, in fact. On weeknights during off-season, Kindle poses as a quiet Milton, Del., restaurant whose dining room, chockful of chocolate-leather banquettes, wrought-iron candle fixtures, and tanned year-rounders of all ages, could double as a feature in a Pottery Barn catalog. Weekends create a different scene. The noise level shoots up considerably, while folks cram the restaurant’s handsome bar/ lounge area, dominated by the impressive circular fireplace, to wait long minutes (say, forty-five or so) for tables that may turn out to be in the decidedly less-desirable mezzanine level. Why do restaurants even consider putting tables just outside of busy office and restroom doors?

Over three visits in roughly six months, I experienced the gamut at Kindle. Midweek dinners yielded immediate and courteous service, while Saturday night’s long wait for a table in the mezzanine was not made any more palatable by lukewarm food and neglectful service. (Our server forgot several orders, even asking me twice if I would like a glass of wine when I had already ordered one from her.) All this would seem less petty if the food were fabulous. Some of it is. (The Gruyere mac-and-cheese spiked with seasonal vegetables offers just the right contrast of cream and crunch.) But much of the menu—including the availability of certain items—is maddeningly inconsistent. On a busy Saturday night, the kitchen was out of several appetizers and the carrot cake—not so unusual on a weekend, maybe. But after I had placed my order for a hamburger early on a Monday evening, our server came back apologetic. The restaurant was out of hamburgers, he told us, because the other table had ordered four. This sort of thing is a mild annoyance once but inexcusable after.

Kindle does best with some of the simple, homey dishes that pepper its menu. Roasted tomato soup is creamy without being cloyingly rich and cleverly garnished with a Morbier cheese and brioche crouton. (On one visit, the garnish was tiny grilled cheese sandwiches.) Likewise, what elevates the baby beet salad above the ordinary is the generous slice of warm brie that graces the plate. Although the yellowfin tuna Niçoise salad included Niçoise olives, capers, and a sliced egg, it suffered from ice-cold potatoes and squishy grape tomatoes whose skin, for some odd reason, had been removed. A heavy hand on the pepper-crusted tuna completely covered up the fish’s rich, fresh flavor. Better was the smoked trout salad, which appears on the menu periodically.

Winning entrees included roast chicken spiced with smoked paprika and served with a side of the mac-and-cheese, a generous and expertly cooked New York strip steak sandwich, and the simple but very fresh campanelle pasta with wild mushrooms, caramelized fennel, and asparagus in a light cream sauce. I would order any of these entrees again.

But sometime dishes that suggested simplicity were either too simple or not simple enough. The braised pork toro appetizer was just too much of only a slightly good thing. Fatty pork belly is certainly gaining popularity in certain restaurants, but even the three-inch square slab was too rich and too heavy as an appetizer, and the addition of homemade cashew butter just felt like overload. The black-and-white pizza tasted more of roasted garlic than the black truffle ricotta or white truffle oil that gives the dish its name, whereas the Hawaiian marlin lacked any distinctive flavor, and serving it over limp haricots verts made the whole dish reminiscent of wedding reception food. We were also disappointed with the grilled rockfish whose basmati-quinoa pilaf turned out to be rice with a sprinkling of tiny black quinoa that looked like poppy seeds.

Desserts were similarly hit or miss. Homemade lemon buttermilk ice cream was nicely tart and served in a house-made brioche with a small pitcher of blackberry sauce on the side. But, though the crème brulee had the requisite molten crisp sugar layer, the crème was entirely too cold in contrast. On two occasions, apple crumble could have used more spice, and the milky strawberry cream filling the strawberry and rose meringue looked like the icy surface of a skating pond but tasted like sweet soup, an unsettling contrast.

According to chef/owner Ian Crandall, Kindle doesn’t take reservations to ensure that the restaurant will run more efficiently by seating more people. This also ensures a crowded lounge, which, in the end, might not be a bad thing. Snuggle into a corner near the fireplace, sip a $4 taste or a full glass of wine from the restaurant’s refreshingly well-chosen wine list, and make sure you order the mac-and-cheese. In these circumstances, Kindle may light your fire.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.