Sugar and spice and everything nice.

CHIKALICIOUS 203 E. 10TH ST. (BETW. 1ST & 2ND AVES.) 212-995-9511

MUCH TO my surprise, ChikaLicious, a dessert-only eatery and wine bar in the East Village, didn't feel all that indulgent. As imagined by the sweet freak in me, their $12 three-course dessert "meal" would amount to something as ridiculous as three slices of Junior's-sized cakes doled out with sloppy abandon.

Instead, ChikaLicious is as restrained as it is sugar-laced. The sophisticated bill of fare consists of an amuse, a small scoop of very fine house sorbet in a flavor-infused gelée, a choice of dessert (the "main") and an assortment of petit fours. Parting with the refrigerator-case convention of cake display, you cannot preview your choices of pastry here—the highly individual desserts at ChikaLicious are made to order.

If you're looking to binge, I suggest smuggling home a pint of Häagen-Dazs and saving ChikaLicious for another night. Try counting the number of bites it takes for you to polish off a dessert here—two or three for the amuse, the main dessert in six to eight, and the petit fours in three—and you'll see there's really not that much food. The generosity of ChikaLicious comes through more in the variety than in the quantity, and excess is ruled out in favor of precision: in service, technique, presentation and flavor.

The greatest thrill of ChikaLicious is the performance aspect. The venue, an all-white, space-age shoebox of a place, serves as an empty canvas on which pastry chefs Chika Tillman and Donna Ryan are the focal points. Laboring with the delicacy of lab technicians, the chefs stand behind the wraparound bar, and with all ingredients within arms reach, prepare each dessert right before your eyes. This is a little more complex than slicing a piece of pie or drizzling coulis on an empty plate—just the other night, Chika whipped out a mini blowtorch and proceeded to "brulée" a pineapple spear.

More impressive than the fire show is the astonishing economy of movement on display. Whether the ladies are spooning sorbet, easing a cheesecake out of its mold or dicing bananas, not a gesture is wasted, and if you watch closely, you might learn a trick or two. After scraping up a scoop of ice cream, rather than shaking it free the way we might do at home, the pastry chef will rub the underside of the spoon against the palm of her hand, heating it so that the ice cream slides effortlessly onto the plate. While such techniques are common to most high-end pastry kitchens, the visibility at ChikaLicious allows diners to appreciate the expertise that goes into making fine desserts.

Matching the decor, the desserts are presented in minimalist arrangements. The amuse is an oblong scoop, or "quenelle," of sorbet, placed without fanfare in a shallow puddle of thin colorless gelée. I sampled chocolate- and tea-flavored gelee with coconut sorbet, a sophisticated yet understated combination of deep, soft, rounded flavors. On another evening, the rosemary gelée with yogurt sorbet was a bit odd—the sorbet was delicious, but the rosemary gelée was more savory than it was fragrant and didn't quite work as an accompaniment to a dessert.

The expertise of the chefs notwithstanding, the main desserts were not as exciting as the amuses. Although everything was of a very high quality, there was an overall lack of impact. Bananas on kataifi, a Greek pastry made of shredded phyllo dough, with bourbon molasses ice cream was disappointing. The bananas were cubed, placed on a disk of crispy, non-descript dough and doused with syrup. The concentrated flavor of the ice cream was too overpowering for the rest of the dessert, which was short on character and substance. The signature dessert, a fromage blanc cheesecake served chilled on a bed of ice, was light and airy, but in the end didn't have much complexity and, in a sauce of unsweetened heavy cream, came off rather bland. The same goes for mocha and hazelnut trifle-layered mocha sponge with hazelnut pastry cream, chopped toasted hazelnuts and white coffee ice cream, which, despite its ostensibly rich components, were not resonant enough to savor.

Ending the "meal" on a higher note were the petit fours—three miniature desserts on a small platter. Over two visits, I tried the coconut marshmallow, mini pecan sandy, flourless chocolate cake with caramel buttercream, the pistachio and citrus biscotti and cinnamon truffle. Each was fantastic. The ceremony extends to the drinks—coffee ($3.50) was served in a French press (not yet pressed), Darjeeling tea ($3.50) came in an attractive clear glass pot, and the sparkling house cocktail ($10) was prosecco spiked with a cube of frozen Meyer lemon juice and honey that released a confetti curl of lemon zest as it melted.

From start to finish, the service at ChikaLicious was impeccable, quite a feat for a three-person operation. The one member of staff in addition to the two pastry chefs is a solicitous fellow wearing a nametag that reads "Don." On both of my visits, Don greeted me warmly, offered earnest dessert recommendations, taking my order, serving beverages, clearing the plates and delivering the bill, all with a smile. I later found out that "Don" is Don Tillman, husband of Chika and ChikaLicious co-owner and sommelier. But at the time of my visits, I just thought I was dealing with an exceptionally sensitive host who embodied the kind of dignity and elegance at work that recalls Bill Jones, the now-legendary "line guy" at Whole Foods.

Though many restaurants of operatic scale—Megu, Spice Market, Matsuri—have recently opened, it is at the diminutive, detail-driven ChikaLicious that you will find a meaningful example of restaurant as theater.