Blue Ridge is a rustic throwback to days of old

As the recession has lengthened and deepened, local restaurants — especially new ones — have reacted. At any number of new eateries, price points have come down; concepts are more casual. But Blue Ridge in Glover Park is something else entirely. It’s a restaurant that actually seems to hearken back to the Great Depression.

The restaurant brings together Eli Hengst and Jared Rager, who previously partnered on Redwood in Bethesda and Sonoma on Capitol Hill, along with Chef Barton Seaver, the sustainability advocate whose resume includes Café St. Ex and Hook.

Their mission, says Hengst, is “creating a restaurant that could have existed 100 years ago.”

The Scene: The partners have transformed the former Busara space into something resembling a Shaker farmhouse. Witness the block wood tables, exposed monofilament light fixtures and quilts hanging on the walls. In keeping with their green ethos, the 110-year-old oak bar is reclaimed, as are the church pews in the dining room. Upstairs, you’ll find a lounge area with low sofa seating and coffee tables.

The Pour: Sustainability and value are the watchwords on this very eclectic wine list. Very few of the 20-odd choices by the glass top $10, and more than half the bottles check in at under $50. Among the all-American and French list, you’ll find plenty of hard-to-find, little known bottles, including some interesting finds from Frederick County, Md., Virginia hunt country and New York’s Hudson River Valley.

The Taste: For a chef of Seaver’s stature, I’ve experienced far too many missteps coming from this regional, seasonal menu. Grass-fed New York steak had none of the earthy flavor you’d expect, but rather tasted only of the char from the grill. A filet of mahi-mahi was overwhelmingly salty, while a grilled trout with citrus-pecan butter was cloyingly sweet.

I even had to question the charcuterie. On one visit, I ordered the domestic artisinal ham, and got an inedible pile of shaved fat. Nearly none of the pink protein to speak of. (The house-made bacon, on the other hand, was nearly perfect.) Other choices are just a bit odd. Intrigued, I ordered the Path Valley radishes with cultured butter. And that’s what they were — a plate of about six raw radishes, next to a mound of butter, for $5.

Still, there are some hopeful signs. Two pot pies — one with root vegetables, one punctuated by a whole chicken leg — were rustic and hearty, topped with a moist rosemary potato biscuit. A grit cake topped with mushroom gravy was a perfect nod to the south, updated for contemporary tastes. And grilled calamari was a joy, perfectly cooked and topped with basil-walnut pesto and frisée.

The Touch: Servers here are pleasant and affable, but mine had a tendency to disappear for long stretches.

Don’t Miss: The quaint deck and garden in the back, a gem of a hideaway on an otherwise bustling commercial strip.

Why You Won’t Go: The noise. The combination of the hard surfaces and some tables placed too close together means you may literally have to shout in order to communicate with your dining partners. Ask for the outdoor space or the upstairs lounge for a little less volume.

Why You Will Go: To sit at the rustic bar and enjoy some of the well-made, classic cocktails (think Gin Rickeys and Sazeracs). For a larger group, old fashioned, boozy punches, are available by the bowl for $29.