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Try and grab a noon-time table at The Little Village and they look at you funny.

“You gotta get here at 11,” the host delights. And as breakfast-like as that sounds, no one who wants lasagna in a tasteful room of rugged timbers and exposed brick is bucking the system.

The restaurant, which opened a year ago on the northern edge of downtown a block from the river, throbs with life at lunch. A number of factors contribute to its popularity.

Starved for upscale establishments amid one too many sandwicheries and buffets, diners here immediately embraced the grown-up vibe and client-worthy menu.

Second, the place is a reinterpretation of a Baton Rouge legend, The Village. That suburban haunt closed its doors on Airline Highway and Florida Boulevard in 1990, having fed generations of Baton Rougeans with its beefy Italian-American fare. The original Village was a go-to place for first dates and seminal family outings.

And finally, crowds flock to The Little Village because, over-sauced and all, the food is pretty darn good.

The menu is hefty, as are the portions. And what dominates is the typical board-of-fare of Italian restaurants hereabouts: red gravy dishes like lasagna, spaghetti and parmigiana; seafood specialties like three-way oysters, crabmeat-topped fish and fried shrimp; and no surprise, nice cuts of beef with a handful of overindulgent “toppers.”

Wisely arriving at 11 a.m. sharp, we recently sampled lunch, discovering some nice finds among the appetizers. Notable among them is the sumptuous, delicate pair of mini-manicotti, whose soft pillows of dough surround finely ground veal and spices ($6.95). A douse of red sauce covers the whole thing, and thankfully it’s not as saccharine as some. We also loved the Romano-dusted, pull-apart Village Bread, weeping with oil and butter and served with fragrant olive tapenade ($6.50). It’s one of the restaurant’s best-loved offerings, and we found it utterly sop-worthy and deserving. A half-loaf was enough to keep two of us sopping all meal long.

Word on the street is The Little Village offers stellar meatballs, and sure enough the rap held true. Meatballs are a breeze to screw up, often tasting dense and rubbery from ham-handed rolling. But here, my fork slid easily down the middle and revealed a moist plump texture. Every tiny morsel of onion and herb was well blended and evenly cooked. (Lunchtime appetizer: $4, meatballs and spaghetti, $8.95/$10.95)

Next we tried the so-so warm crawfish salad ($9.95). The crawfish tails were sweet and nicely fried, but the dressing was so overpowering and the salad so large that eating it became a drag.

On another outing, this time for dinner, we started with the arancine, a sumptuous deep-fried ball of rice and seafood stuffing doused in two sauces ($8.95). I love to see this dish on menus, and here it’s nicely done.

The Little Village’s fish specials are almost always hefty portions of the ever-quotidian tilapia. Nevertheless, we gave the “Fish of the Day” meuniere a try ($17.95). This meuniere deviates from dredged-in-flour, pan-sautéed daintiness and errs on the side of good-and-crispy, not unlike fish from traditional fish and chips. We enjoyed its simplicity and sweetness.

The veal parmigiana was disappointing ($15.95). It’s pounded so thin and laden with so much red gravy, cheese and breadcrumbs we found it hard to see where things stop and start. And the seafood cannelloni, while nicely prepared with crepes instead of pasta shells, was way saucy ($13.95).

The dessert list is full of well-done, made-on-site creations, including Frangelico mousse, whose smooth, palate-cleansing texture is the perfect foil for what’s come before ($4.95). And for those who want to finish big, there’s the over-the-top Chambord truffle, a fat ball of dense, pecan-studded chocolate cake served hot and smothered in dark chocolate with drizzles of white chocolate and raspberry sauces. Both are great.

The vibe in the Little Village’s exposed brick dining room is pleasantly loud and lively, and the bar, tiled in black-and-white retro flooring, makes for a good martini stop-off. Oddly enough, the place sits atop one of Baton Rouge’s quirkier watering holes, the Thirsty Tiger. And you can get there by way of the staircase in the middle of the dining room.