The bars on the windows speak to the ongoing gentrification of what was once the city’s rough-and-tumble east side, while the simple sign bearing the unmistakable silhouette of Don Quixote speaks to the mission of The Good Knight, which is probably the best name we’ve ever heard for a restaurant. Indeed, this former dive bar was transformed into a whispered-about beacon of the East Austin dining renaissance. The magic takes place inside cinderblock walls and on concrete flooring, in a space kept much too dark for, we assume, quixotic reasons. Vaguely Moorish curtains separate booths, and the walls are a menagerie of vintage headshots. These same folks would appreciate a Sazerac, and may have even donated the mismatched china on which the food is served.

There is a pretense—adorable though it is—that we can’t take too seriously, like a kid wearing his grandfather’s clothes. For one thing, the drinks are wildly inconsistent. We suspect the pours are unmeasured, as a St. Germain swings wildly between just right and too sweet, and the eponymous Good Knight cocktail is heavy on Paula’s Lemon and light on rye. There is far too much ice in everything—the sort that melts. But the Bloody Mary tastes of beef bouillon and that we like. Pleasantly surprising are the succinct, focused single malt Scotch and beer selections, but wine is still an afterthought here, less seriously food focused than perfunctory. (Who decided wine was uncool? Wine is cool. Geeks are cool. Cocktail geeks, meet wine geeks.)

The equally diminutive and changing menu has the modest rusticity of a very talented friend’s dinner party. The soup of the day is often hearty and balanced, one time with a Spanish-style chorizo that would’ve also been great on its own. Flammekueche (tarte flambée) has a brittle flatbread crust smothered in sweet caramelized onions, but we want more of the excellent house-made bacon. In fact, the house charcuterie is quite strong, like chicken liver mousse with a slight Muscat sweetness. Mains like pot pie and meatloaf are also good, but keep the salt near. Vegetarians have about as many choices here as do carnivores, with filling meals like a nut-and-cheese loaf that, while smoky and texturally good, wants for more assertive flavors.

Desserts are mostly successful: we’ve had pots de crème with chocolate and Earl Grey with just a whisper of bergamot on the finish, and a coconut-buttermilk pie with an alluring blueberry-cardamom compote. Like the good knight, who falls short of glory but aims ever true, this place has a heart and nobility that we love and root for, and that we need more of.

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