Bill Addison

It is the rare restaurant, in Dallas or any city, that achieves enduring popularity and critical praise but decides to pause at the crest of its success to regroup and make itself even better.

But Abacus, which has maintained a five-star rating from The Dallas Morning News since 2002, just recalibrated itself brilliantly.

An interior renovation in April sparked a considerable rethinking of the restaurant's food and wine program as well. The timing seemed right: chef de cuisine and Top Chef star Tre Wilcox left Abacus early this year (and is rumored to have a Dallas restaurant in the works to open spring 2009), and executive chef-owner Kent Rathbun decided to redouble his input into the menu.

A recent post-overhaul meal bedazzled on numerous levels. Rather than an official update review, though, consider this column more of a spotlight on the changes, both pronounced and subtle, that up Abacus' already stellar game.

When I previously walked into Abacus, I always eyed the low-lighted bar to the right of the hostess stand and wondered, "Who hangs out in there?" It appeared to be little more than an antechamber pit stop before the main event.

Well, from here on out, I'll leave time before or after to linger: The bar space was a priority for the renovation and now possesses its own clear-cut desirability. Removing the wall between the bar and the main dining area now lets the energy better circulate between the two rooms. Pendant fixtures featuring metal and fiber mesh have lightened the space literally and figuratively.

Low-slung, rectangular leather chairs beckon for reclining and imbibing. To deepen the enticement, the staff concocted a new list of cocktails. I may not wait for my next full meal (which, by the way, you can order in the bar) to return for their variation on a Dark and Stormy, a favorite hot-weather drink: Pampero and Cruzan black strap rums are blended with fresh lime juice and ginger syrup. Pass the suntan lotion.

Bye-bye, Southwestern hues; hello, right-now neutral minimalism. EDG, the same group that originally designed Abacus in 1999, has created a much airier look this time around, erasing the confined sensation one could sometimes feel here. Floor-to-ceiling glass now exposes the wine room, and high-set dividers made from blackened steel and acid-etched glass give the space an additional breath of expansiveness.

The new back wall is a stunner: Rippling and jagged, it's made from Texas limestone. It brings an Asian accent to the space, an intentional allusion to the fusion aspects of Abacus' menu.

Bring your glasses to admire the artwork around the room: Most of it is made by staff members, including pastry chef Rick Griggs, and is for sale. The collection rotates every four months.

One of my few previous quibbles with the restaurant was with the wine pairings for the otherwise glorious weekday nine-course tasting menu: They came off as unimaginative. Scratch that criticism. Matthew Scott, the director of operations who also oversees the wine program, found a smart approach to improve those offerings and the wine list as a whole: He greatly augmented the inventory of half-bottles.

Mr. Scott and the servers draw on these options (which, including champagne and sake, total more than 80 half-bottles) for the wine pairings, which are newly offered in three pricing tiers: $50, $95 or a blowout $195 per person. With the $50 option, diners might begin the evening with an Alsatian Trimbach Gewurztraminer; folks opting for the $195 splurge can expect to start with a Nicolas Feuillatte brut rosé.

As for the wine list overall, Mr. Scott says it is "globally stronger. We still maintain a strong California base, but we get a lot of international business travelers in the restaurant, and customers as a whole seem to be branching out more than ever."

Whether you opt for the nine-course tasting menu (which still feels like a bargain at $95) or order separate starters, entrees and desserts, make sure the dish called "bacon and eggs" lands in front of you.

The composition encompasses the best elements of current New American fine-dining cooking: carefully sourced ingredients, a dual sense of luxury and comfort and a hefty dose of wit. In a riff on pork belly, so omnipresent in restaurants these days, Mr. Rathbun wrangled with famed Niman Ranch pork purveyors to supply him with slabs of chipotle bacon, a new product the company was planning to sell only sliced in grocery stores. Triangles of this sweet-smoky-salty delight are paired with gently scrambled duck eggs atop toast, girded with wisps of black truffle. Breakfast of champions has been impressively refined.

While stretching frontiers with other newly introduced items such as salt-crusted calamari fondue with yellow curry sauce and wood-roasted foie gras with pineapple-ginger jam, the menu, with its Southwestern and Asian overtones, retains its essential amiability.

"I'm the kind of chef that wants people to like the food," says Mr. Rathbun. "I've never wanted to hear people say, 'It was interesting, but I'd never order that again.' "

What's really most notable about the food experience is the finessing around the peripheries. Mr. Griggs takes the dessert menu in new directions. His roots as a Lone Star native show in his Texas peach turnovers with blackberry jam and vanilla bean ice cream, but he now also creates ambitious samplers: the Bento Box, with Asian fillips like yuzu, mango and green tea; Taste of Chocolate, which includes Scharffen Berger chocolate pudding and a Nutella "Kit Kat" terrine; and imaginative assortments of cookies and custards.

And, hallelujah, Mr. Griggs and his assistant, Kara Blair, have challenged themselves to present a more intriguing cheese course. Selections range from Texas cheesemakers like Latte Da Dairy in Flower Mound and La Cuesta Farm in Clifton to less-common morsels such as Marieke gouda from Wisconsin and Ros, a tangy sheep's milk cheese made in the Basque region of Spain.

Abacus hoists the bar mighty high with these improvements. Even in these ambiguous economic times, I'm betting diners will drive away pining to return. I know I did.