What the husband-and-wife team (he cooked at Bacar; she ran the floor at Delfina) have opened is a quietly appealing neighborhood place, a restaurant of substance, not superficies, specializing in what I am afraid to describe as contemporary California cuisine.

Like "war on terror," "California cuisine" is a term so broad and tired it has largely outlived its usefulness. What meaning it carries comes through mostly in the form of faint impressions: fuzzy images of goat cheese and Early Girl tomatoes, chefs foraging at farmers' markets, line-caught fish, and pampered livestock relayed a bedtime story on its way to slaughter, then braised tenderly in something sweet.

Lo and behold, on a recent night at Range, Early Girls cropped up in the kitchen, where chef West simmered them into soup that was the tangy essence of tomato, bold and bright red, its acid tempered and its body given texture by a fried squash blossom adrift on top. Goat cheese turned up, too, mixed with sorrel and stuffed into ravioli for a sweet-tart, one-two punch. The pasta, in turn, was layered like tile work in a shallow bowl and drizzled with lime butter and chives.

On the even lighter side, there was a salad of roasted nectarines, Chévre, and fennel. And another was made from Little Gem lettuce, the coddled offspring of romaine, with fried capers and slivered radish. West tossed the greens with a roasted garlic vinaigrette that gave the dish a pleasant degree of pluck.

You get the drift.

It is too much to say that the person most responsible for having changed the way Americans eat is Alice Waters. That person, after all, is Ray Kroc. But Range is a reminder that around these parts, Alice's restaurant remains, like Citizen Kane, the inspirational original that lives on in so much else. Not that Range feels anything like Chez Panisse. The Wests have made their home in what was once Timo's, a tapas-style restaurant that was cursed with a cramped, windowless main room, one that brought to mind what it might be like to eat belowdecks in a Spanish galleon. The Wests spent a year reworking the interior; tearing out the purple, gold, and turquoise tile; and removing the pillars that had given Timo's diners obstructed-view seats. Range has roughly the same configuration as its predecessor: a bar in front, with a narrow neck that leads to a less-than-expansive dining room. But the Wests have warmed the place with sage green walls, chocolate brown banquettes, and a farm table topped with ample floral arrangements. They've also added windows—tiny portals, but windows nonetheless. In short, like Martha Stewart in a cell, the Wests have made the streamlined, modern most of a limited space.

In lieu of small plates, Range offers a small menu, which diners should regard as the good sign that it is. Like overample portions, extralong menus are frequently the hallmark of a restaurant unconcerned with subtlety, of a chef who dabbles in many dishes but masters none. At Range, the focus on a handful of appetizers and entrées shines through in sharp execution. Slow-cooked halibut, simmered and served in a small cocotte, is brought to the brink of its melting point, then set to bask in a fava bean broth brightened by pistachio gremolata, with big-grained Israeli couscous soaking underneath. Roasted chicken, its skin seared crisp, holds on jealously to its juices. They spill out only when they're most wanted, onto a warm carrot, beet, and walnut salad, mellowing the kick of a horseradish vinaigrette.

Since dishes at Range rotate with the seasons, diners might soon lament the passing of coffee-rubbed pork shoulder, an entrée with a smoky, south-of-the-border flavor, which the chef complements with creamy hominy and braised greens. But even more intense mourning is sure to meet the loss of pastry chef Ryan Ostler's Brillat-Savarin soufflé, made from the triple-cream cheese of the same name. Deliciously unsweet and served with strawberry salad in balsamic reduction, the dessert ranks among the most delightful after-dinner treats in town.

What we hope will remain in place throughout the calendar year are Range's reasonable prices. No entrée breaks the $20 barrier, and a sprightly Viognier or a sweet-nosed Syrah can be found on the wine list for not much more than that. By San Francisco standards, the restaurant is a steal, made all the more so by the crispness of its service. The staff provides the sort of adroit attention you enjoy, but don't expect, from what is essentially a neighborhood joint.

High concept? Low concept? Whatever. Range is a good restaurant that won't put a strain on your second mortgage. In the Mission district, if not in Hollywood, that's the kind of idea that sells.

Range 842 Valencia St. (At 20th St.), S.F., 415-282-8283. $$. Dinner Only. Reservations Recommended. Wheelchair Accessible. **1/2