MIDCITY CUISINE perplexes me. Truthfully, I have always enjoyed dining in this restaurant, especially at lunch. But the recent tale of this tony brasserie's short three-year life span is long and sordid.

It was a vision of former chef Shaun Doty's to open an American brasserie that made it fashionable to serve breakfast, lunch and dinner in the middle of Midtown. To use seasonal ingredients. To make dishes affordable but stylish. To push the creative envelope a little, but keep things smart.

Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
MidCity's tajarin pasta with chanterelles and olives is done well ... if only the paint/upholstery were given the same attention.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
Roasted golden beets with chevre (above) and a torchon of foie gras with poached cranberries work well with a selection from the short but thoughtful wine list — even if some of MidCity's staffers are not always knowledgeable enough to help with the selection.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
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After opening in 2003, Doty put MidCity on the proverbial culinary map, receiving rave reviews from the local media. Former AJC dining critic John Kessler crowned Doty one of the top 10 chefs in Atlanta, saying "you taste Doty's work and you taste his training, his travels, his sensitivity to ingredients."

MidCity prospered. It became the "it" place to eat. The place to meet for drinks and end up staying for dinner. It was one of the first of its kind in the city — a hip hangout where the pretty people knew they could rely not just on strong cocktails, but a fresh-faced effort from Doty to make them feel savvy, too.

Then more places just as hip and just as savvy opened. MidCity suddenly had to share the spotlight. After two years, there was gossip that Doty was looking at other venues, until last summer when he finally left to open Table 1280 inside the High Museum. Faltering, MidCity was sold to new owners, cast off like lots.

Doty's friend and sous chef, Lance Gummere, was promoted to executive chef. But in the aftermath of a public relations debacle that included the new owners' use of reviews of Doty on the restaurant's Web site as if they were describing Gummere, the young chef was fired. Within a New York minute, he was replaced by Nicolas Bour, of the lovely but now defunct Iris.

Are you following this? Because I'm exhausted. I've eaten at MidCity no less than eight times since last October and I can tell you that amid the change of not one, not two — but three chefs — I don't see much of a difference in the feel of the menu at all.

I've been told by management and PR that the menu is totally new, but in truth, the solid bistro fare that was Doty's translated nicely under Gummere's hand. It translates just as nicely with Bour.

Bour is a bit of a wild child, but at MidCity he sets a pace that suits the brasserie mold to a T — straightforward dishes, top ingredients, solid preparation.

If only everything else at the restaurant would follow his lead. Sadly, it's time for a MidCity makeover — the upholstery on the once über-chic banquettes is wearing thin, the wine list — a short beauty with a good mix of standard and boutique wines — isn't studied by the staff, many of whom are just as unfamiliar with the food. The dining room could use a fresh coat of paint.

And yet the only tangible changes are what was solid in the first place: the talent in the kitchen.

Bour's take on a torchon of foie gras is a classic — brioche toast points with a creamy pâté offset with dreamy cranberries he poaches in Burgundy and spices with star anise, cinnamon and imported Dijon mustard. There's a slightly-too-unruly mound of refreshing Sauternes gelee, but never mind. Smear all of it on the brioche and close your eyes as it goes down. The cranberries will rock your world with sweet cherry flavor.

My favorite dish is a simple side of tajarin pasta (an egg yolk-enriched pasta from Italy's Piedmont region) dressed with butter, olives and drop-dead gorgeous chanterelle mushrooms. I tried it with a MidCity staple of sautéed spinach drenched in butter, lemon and garlic, and a glass of Il Cavaliere Chianti Rufina Reserva 2000. It was a simple, splendid meal.

Bour pairs golden beets with chevre and drizzles the plate with a fine balsamic vinegar. He enobles chicken simply by using a fine, free-range breast and roasting it properly until it is simultaneously crunchy and juicy. He skillfully manages to elevate strip steak and pommes frites beyond the perfect bistro dish we all love. The whole fish (either dourade or loup de mer) flashily filleted tableside after it's baked in a salty meringue is a measure of the restaurant's ability to still put on a show.

Desserts, from newly hired pastry chef Nicholas Crawford, lack the maturity of the rest of the menu. A "box of chocolates" is an embarrassment, nothing more than tempered slabs of dark chocolate holding haphazardly made cocoa truffles, hardly the "tasting of handmade chocolates" promised in the menu note.

I'm still not sure what the lemon goo of a Meyer lemon martini was, but goat cheese cheesecake with pistachio crust holds its own against the fray, especially when smeared with the syrup of a nearby candied kumquat (something the server couldn't identify).

MidCity is a restaurant that deserves better. And no amount of musical chefs will change this. Its culinary pedigree is not in question and never has been. But without a little love transfusion, I fear anemia may set in.