West Village hit maker Gabriel Stulman runs a happy ship at month-old Simon & the Whale, a charming, nautically named restaurant without nautical décor. His largest place to date transports the delicious energy of his cozy downtown boites, including Joseph Leonard and Fedora, to the workers- and residents-teeming crossroads of Lexington Avenue and 23rd Street.

The area’s full of Indian, Lebanese and Italian places — but few good modern-American ones until now. Named for Stulman’s orca-loving young son, Simon & the Whale is the flagship of three buzzing venues he runs in the new Freehand Hotel. (Studio, a noisy, Moroccan-tinged eatery, and the made-for-canoodling Washington Bar are on the second floor.)

The L-shaped dining room at the 23rd Street corner is a warm sea of dark wood, blue-green banquettes and brass-hooded light fixtures, wrapped in large windows on two sides.

The floor crew sports funky aprons adorned with all kinds of animal prints and grinning, Halloween-ish skulls. “We can choose the one we want,” reveals our bubbly waitress. But despite the friendly vibe, and although Bill Clinton drew cheers when he popped in a few weeks ago, this is no boozy party scene. Executive chef Matt Griffin churns out crowd-pleasing dishes with enough mild twists to set them apart.

The waitress asks, “May I clear these bread plates to create a landing zone for your food?” Not so fast! Sourdough roasted black bread ($5), made in-house with hints of caraway and anise, is too good to leave a crumb, accompanied by silky, carp roe taramasalata.

The food “lands” with a roar. Starters ($14-to-$17) and mains ($18-to-$32) are intricately but not preciously composed. Arctic char tartare is diced from cured and smoked filets, lightly spread with house-smoked sour cream and garnished with cucumbers, dill and mint. Paper-thin lamb carpaccio is barely seared and embellished with rosemary yogurt, Mediterranean herbs and Sardinian goat cheese.

American-raised wagyu beef is often bland and overpriced. But Griffin’s 6-ounce Snake River “flapsteak” is a revelation at $32. The sirloin-butt-muscle cut is deep-flavored and attended by hen of the woods mushrooms, baby beets, bordelaise sauce and fresh horseradish.

I enjoyed spaghetti acqua pazza crammed with Castelvetrano green olives, but the class of the pasta were ravioli-like, spinach-and-egg casonsei filled with a pillowy blend of sunchoke puree and cheese.

Except for crunchy brioche doughnuts, desserts try too hard to be clever. Assam tea ice cream did no favors to dry, strange-textured chocolate buckwheat cake. But this whale blows a happy tune that will bring me back.