NOODLING AROUND: Mantra's menu—including Philippine noodles with chicken, shrimp and chorizo—leans toward pan-Asian cuisine. : Michael T. Regan

Wholesale, the Eastern-vibed, sleek and serene, bliss-via-plum-glazed-pork-ribs hangout is not a bad idea. It just seems to be an issue here of too-muchness, or a lack of focus. Some of the decor elements, for instance, are elegant and clever, like the undulating wall behind the bar, the glittering votives, the parasols lined up across the ceiling like rice-paper lighting fixtures. But others look more slapdash, like a painted solar-system mural, the gold joss papers shellacked on the walls and the collages of Asian fashion models in the restrooms. It's not exactly kitschy, but it doesn't all hold together. Ultimately, the aesthetic effect falls somewhere in between Buddakan and New York's Asian-themed drag club Lucky Cheng's.

Mantra's religious motif is carried through to the menu, which is divided up into "Mind," "Spirit" and "Body" categories, "Mind" being the cocktails, "Spirit" the desserts and "Body" the savory foods.

A temporary BYO still waiting on a liquor license, Mantra will eventually offer cocktails like Grasshopper's Lament (lemongrass-infused sake), or the Red Eye to Tokyo (shochu, coffee liqueur and espresso), both of which sound like they would take hold of the mind, body and spirit and possibly rock the sanctuary a little harder. For now, though, the focus is square on the food, which, like the decor, is by turns intriguing and overwrought.

Mantra specializes in small-plate Asian "soul food," with each item arriving as it is ready. This system might be easier than synchronizing formal courses, but it actually demands more consistent attention to the table, including the changing of plates in between dishes if needed. On one visit all of our orders arrived rapid fire; on another, soft-shell crabs lagged in the kitchen. Twenty minutes after we'd finished everything else, a manager came over and wanted to know if we were waiting for anything. (Another example of the still-unpolished service was when a server took away an empty platter and said sarcastically, "Yeah, you guys totally hated this.")

The flavors, which will be familiar to patrons of owner Al Paris' former venture, Guru, are inclusively and occasionally fusion-y pan-Asian—Szechwan beef salad, Mongolian beef "firepot," Philippine noodles with chicken, shrimp and chorizo. The best of these dishes are the most austere, allowing the inherent flavors of their ingredients to shine through, like grilled baby lamb chops, served with cucumber yogurt dip and a pickled onion and carrot salad on a freckled handmade roti.

When it's on, the food is most certainly on here. I loved the juicy mini Bombay burgers, arguably the most "soulful" of offerings. They come two to a plate, pocketed in a roti with chopped pickles, and accompanied by a side of chunky, salt-studded sweet potato fries and soy dipping sauce. Crispy skinned duck confit, served over Hong Kong noodles with a cool mango peanut slaw and a sprinkle of micro-greens, is similarly rich and fulfilling.

There's an enjoyable novelty to the Asian Caesar salad with its creamy garlic dressing, airy shrimp chip crunch, and swirl of candy-sweet duck sauce. The same could be said about the lobster kamikaze, a martini-sized cocktail of claw meat, avocado and mango glowing with masago (roe) dust.

Yet some of the most seemingly straightforward dishes lack delicacy. Dumplings are doughy pasta purses stuffed with bland ground chicken and infrequent scallions. The chicken vindaloo is largely flavorless, its watery ginger tomato onion sauce sopped up by jasmine rice and overcooked baby bok choy.

The Sir Real salmon roll is an unusual case of a fried coating that doesn't make an ingredient more delicious; the panko crumbs clinging to its nori wrapping offer little in the way of texture or flavor to the cooked salmon and rice maki. The Tuna Tataki Japonesa that should be rare is cooked to medium, with just a small, blurry pink center inside its sesame seed crust. The thick sesame sauce beneath is just right for its slices of shiitake mushrooms but it's far too heavy to enhance the fish.

A specialty tea menu offering infusions of whites and greens, oolongs, chais and blacks is a nice touch. You can sip from your chosen pot and nibble on fortune cookies. Or you can venture further on to a five-spice pound cake with berries or a tubular chocolate layered cheesecake encased in spring-roll wrapping with a raspberry dipping sauce. Though the Vietnamese coffee creme brulee is not particularly rich in coffee flavor, its sesame brittle top is an interesting spin on the usual burnt sugar crust. While not spiritually transforming, it's a tasty concoction. Even if you're not a believer, a dessert like this can give you hope.

Mantra

122 S. 18th St., 215-988-1211 Open daily, 5 p.m.-1 a.m. Small Plates, $5-$16 Credit cards accepted.