PRETTY IN MINT: Owner Lucy Brennan brings her Saucebox suave to a new venture.

Entertain the theory that there's a recipe for success for a Portland restaurant/bar. For lack of a better name, call it the Saucebox formula. Ingredients include carefully composed dishes from a limited, exotic-region-inspired menu, an airy space that flirts with luxe austerity, attractive servers, a Moby soundtrack. The result is that people will come at a trot, as they have to Mint since the day it opened.

The bewitching effects of owner Lucy Brennan's Saucebox tenure (as onetime bar manager) are everywhere evident at Mint. The interior's exposed-brick walls, high ceilings and roseate light create a sensual interior like a chamber of the heart, with the serpentine bar booth that snakes along the east wall as aorta. The lanky, turn-of-the-last-century windows stand behind lilac plush curtains, henna-red paper shades muffle the overhead lamps, and chocolate-brown upholstered booths lurk in the corners. Bar and restaurant are theoretically divided (the west wall is one long banquette for diners), but the space is ultimately too snug to allow for such niceties--especially when it gets crowded. When I arrived at around 8 one evening, the aorta was packed to the gills with urban dawn treaders in costly shoes, nuzzling drinks and table-hopping. Everywhere I saw high spirits and friendly acknowledgment of familiar faces. Pairs of diners waited cheerfully for tables, plunking down with acquaintances or lingering at the bar. Damn if it wasn't a hipster Cheers.

The menu created by chef Dan Spitz (he was the sous-chef at Saucebox previously) is inflected with Caribbean and South American influences and offers small plates and a handful of entrees, one of which, the empanada del diá ($12), is vegetarian. Mint (the leafy herb) makes fresh, darting appearances throughout the cuisine--as garnish to the red snapper-scallop seviche ($10), muddled in a bourbony cocktail, in the jicama salad with blood oranges ($6). The salad was crisp and astringent, a tart complement to more macho appetizers like the roasted poblano pepper stuffed with bacalao ($8). When I asked our server if bacalao was fish (I had a vague memory from reading Mark Kurlansky's Cod one rainy weekend), she looked me dead in the eye, grinned and said, "I have no idea." Described on the menu as peppers, plural, what actually arrived was a bare plate topped with a skinless capsicum whose insides had been padded with salt cod. A fellow diner exclaimed, "We're eating alligator nose!"--and in truth the pepper's presentation could have profited from a dash of kitchen flair (lemon wedge? frisée?). No matter--the avocado daiquiris, which sting at first but finish soft (like a slap with a velvet glove), soon distracted us. To further make up, the creamed heart of palm soup ($5) came elegantly presented in a steep-sided, pale-blue bowl.

Another evening, the empanada del diá was filled with roasted vegetables and hedgehog mushrooms. Served on a bed of cumin-spiced cabbage salad and black bean and mango salsa, this entrée was ample and many-flavored. The mushrooms had a meatlike heft and flavor; the pastry was buttery without tasting greasy. The grilled red snapper ($14), by contrast, seemed somewhat forlorn on the plate notwithstanding the compact mound of arroz con queso on which it lay, although the sweet pepper and habañero sauce gave it a little rev. Mint's portions and presentation, in general, feel uneven--the grilled lamb burger with mint chimmichurry and root vegetable chips ($11) has a dig-in informality, while the grilled prawns with romescu and roasted purple potatoes ($14) arrive as three plain skewers stabbing three shrimp each. The cabbage salad and bean salsa are so great they should be offered as sides, particularly for milder dishes. One of my fellow diners exclaimed that the citrus-glazed pork loin stuffed with chipotle peppers and pineapple was fantastic, and it may be that red-meatheads fare best with the entrées. Meatless diners can find their
calories in additional cocktails.

And you'll want those cocktails, because Mint is a pleasant place to park your evening out. With a ramekin of spiced pumpkin seeds
to nibble and a boozy ablution to nurse, why move on to angrier, more urban venues? I overheard one patron enthuse, "What I love about this place is that when you leave, you're not downtown." Yes, stepping onto dark Russell Street from Mint's womb of coolness is a gentler exit than, say, stumbling down 2nd Avenue to find your car after last call. Still, don't expect tranquil privacy at Mint--in fact, bring your crew. There's safety in sprawl in Mint's later hours, when, despite a non-smoking rule, the place decidedly turns into a bar. Intimate twosomes should consider dining earlier for attentive service and quietude. Though service has improved since the rocky opening days, you might have to be assertive if you want to send that lamb burger back for a few more seconds on the grill. But if you come to Mint to imbibe the vibe, little inconsistencies will melt away like a sliver of mango on the tongue.