While some girls grow up dreaming about their fairy-tale wedding, Laura Cullen fantasized about opening the perfect restaurant. Her 5-month-old Clarke's may not have achieved perfection, but the upscale New York-Irish gastro-pub could certainly win best in class.

The place must feel like an oasis to those who live nearby. Dogs can lap up water from a communal dog bowl, while a posse of smokers congregates at the ashtray out front.

Inside, the crisp, clean dining room is framed in handsome mirrors, green upholstered benches and a dramatic mahogany bar. Artsy black-and-white prints of old Miami line the walls, and each of the dozen tables holds a Plexiglas-encased four-leaf clover for good luck.

Not that Cullen needs it. The business is in her blood (her dad just celebrated 40 years at his landmark West Village Sazerac House, and her mom is an executive with the international gastronomic society Chane des Rotisseurs). Cullen's decade as a local liquor rep is obvious in her disarmingly quirky and moderately priced wine list.

Selections including a crisp, citrusy Italian pink pinot grigio and more than 30 international beers make for fun conversation. Vintages are intentionally excluded because this is a list that isn't meant to be taken too seriously.

Like the place itself. Clarke's is a spot best suited for hanging out, enjoying a pint of Guinness and sharing a couple of appetizers. Actually, make that sharing a few entrees; appetizers tend to fall short.

Skip the gloppy macaroni and cheese, the bacon-wrapped scallops with a so-called Irish barbecue sauce and the puny crabmeat-stuffed mushroom caps and head straight for the exemplary fish and chips. Made with a flaky cod, they're light, golden and among the best I've had this side of the pond. Add a shake of malt vinegar, and all that's missing is the newsprint wrapper.

Shepherd's pie, though a bit watery, had fine flavor from the authentic ground lamb and plenty of carrots and peas. The scorch-tipped mashed potato crust was just right.

The burger with crisp lettuce, a slice of red tomato and snappy bracelets of red onion is a classic, and the fries are exceptional. So, too, the double-cut pork chop, a thick and juicy pair of gently seared chops buried in an avalanche of onion rings that work beautifully with the sweet braised red cabbage, diced apples and luscious roasted potatoes.

A filling beef and barley soup could be a meal in itself with its big hunks of carrots and fine earthy broth and nutty grains.

Fish dishes including grilled Atlantic salmon and seared tuna were not nearly as successful, though the side of roasted Brussels sprouts would have been worth the trip alone. Luckily, you can order those la carte and stick with surer bets such as the juicy swordfish poached in olive oil and served with curried jasmine rice.

It would have required more booze to appreciate the bangers and mash -- four overcooked sausages served with baked beans from a can. What might well be England's national dish, chicken curry, is mangled, too. Big hunks of boneless white meat are sautéed in a bland yellow cream sauce dotted with sharp nubs of woody lemon grass that have no business in an Indian-inspired curry. A mound of carrot-bejeweled jasmine rice was dry and flavorless.

Desserts including an over-the-top fudge brownie and a whiskey-spiked bread pudding soufflé hit the spot.

Service ranges from incredibly knowledgeable to flustered. Come in early and you might catch the rosy-cheeked owner wiping down tables or serving drinks. Raise a glass and bestow an Irish blessing on this welcome newcomer: ``May the roof above you never fall in, and those gathered beneath it never fall out.''