The morning Ethan Pikas opened Cellar Door Provisions in 2014, two people walked in looking for fresh croissants. Pikas explained they were still rising but he had a few pastries in the case. The couple shook their heads in disappointment and left. Next came a woman who lived nearby in Logan Square and had herself been a pastry chef. She eagerly bought whatever was on hand and became a loyal fan. “You couldn’t write a better scene to show the dichotomy of the way people perceive the restaurant,” says Pikas with a rueful laugh.

CDP has always been a love-it-or-don’t-get-it kind of place — one that turns a certain kind of neighbor into a regular but confounds the occasional visitor who can’t get a handle on its twitchy personality and constant reinvention. Over the past decade it has been a bakery, brunch spot, dinner pop-up, wine bar, and corner bistro. I’ve watched it transition through it all, and despite bumps along the way, it is now one of the city’s best and most distinctive independent restaurants.

That first paying customer, you see, was my old friend Linsey, and when my wife and I moved to Chicago in 2015, CDP was the first restaurant she took us to. In its earliest years, when Pikas was still with his opening partner, Tony Bezsylko, we obsessed over the baking — the matcha canelés, the custardy quiche, and particularly the sourdough bread and house-cultured butter. There were also dishes made with local, organic produce — roasted roots and pickle-y salads — that made for odd bedfellows but also made sense. You got to know Pikas and Bezsylko through their collaborative cooking and commitment to keeping it weird.

When they began offering four-course dinners on the weekends, we hopped on that train to try beef heart mousse (not my thing) and fermented rutabaga with buttermilk (way better than it sounds). When Linsey and her partner, Scott, decided to marry, we joined them here for a simple ceremony conducted between courses.

The pandemic was hard on the restaurant. “Our to-go dinner service failed miserably,” says Pikas, who had to dismiss all but one of his 23 employees. He and Bezsylko decided to transform the counter-service spot into a wine bar. The remodel, which added a full-length counter, tested their partnership, which ultimately ended because of their differing visions of what the final product should be. Pikas bought Bezsylko out and reopened CDP as a solo project in late 2021.

I stopped by for a meal at the bar soon thereafter, and it was disheartening. The sunny room from before had become a brooding creature of the night with its dim lights. I ordered lamb belly off the short, odd menu and found it as impenetrable as Deadpool’s body armor. A cloudy natural wine was the only red by the glass, and the room was thick with smoke thanks to the kitchen’s underperforming hood (still a problem on hot days). I heard many similar reports and figured I’d wait to return until a thumbs-up or two came my way.

Then, in July of last year, Pikas hired Alex Cochran as chef de cuisine. Cochran brought fine-dining chops (John’s Food & Wine, Kumiko) and an interest in Japanese techniques such as kelp curing. From the get-go Cochran’s skill set has complemented what Pikas calls his own “West Coast hippie mentality” and superlative baking game. Their synergy has brought CDP into its best version yet.

Two of you can easily order half the daily evolving menu. You may start with Murder Point oysters (Alabama’s finest) kissed by flame and glossed with a buttery sauce of cured pork fat, sake, and fig leaf vinegar — a combo that makes glorious sense on the tongue. (It’s one of those “Do we need another order?” dishes.) Fat wedges of golden beets are roasted in (and served with) their skins in a horseradish cream. A creamy dip of fermented squash and garlic confit comes with an enormous carta di musica cracker for snacking joy, particularly when paired with a plate of gently pickled carrots, radishes, and piparra peppers.

Sometimes the dishes are straightforward: Potato and ricotta anolini (small ravioli) in caper brown butter could be the pride of any pasta place. Citrus-cured ocean trout with elderflower broth and a dot of kosho paste subtly nods to tiradito with its silky texture and jolt of spice. But more often they’re unusual: Fermented, roasted black radishes under foamed Parmesan were interesting enough for me to finish, though I never decided if I actually liked them. Parsnip ice cream with a well-salted einkorn crumble and fruity olive oil convinced me of its brilliance after the first bite.

To go with all that, front-of-house manager Sara McCall has a thoughtful beverage list that’s light on cocktails but rich in modern-style wines such as Meigamma vermouth from Sardinia and a lovely Gamay-forward Loire red blend (Clos du Tue-Boeuf) that I always want for a first glass. Almost no bottle hits triple digits in price.

While I do miss the morning pastries, the bread and butter can be the best in the city. I say “can be” because it was different on two visits. That tracks. Pikas and Cochran are always in tweak mode, so inconsistencies are built into CDP’s DNA. And thus there are some flops: Why do kombu butter sauce and raw sorrel do so little for a grilled mackerel fillet? And I think a Klingon would be put off by the texture of grilled beef coulotte over slimy wood ear mushrooms.

Sometimes you can taste the beta trial. A Garnet yam cake, peppery and moist, was so good, though we ate around its meringue cap. When I asked Pikas about the lovely spicing, he told me they removed the topping the next day. Maybe that’s why I feel such affection for this oddball restaurant. Lots of chefs offer signature dishes that never change, so they become craftsmen and their food loses its animating spirit. These two guys are always playing around, and you taste their joy.