As one gets older, one discards the dreams of youth. I don't mean this in any tragic sense. I just think we get better at crafting dreams that don't require brutal physical labor and long hours.

At my age, the closest I wanted to get to my one-time dream of opening a restaurant was to watch someone else do it. I was delighted when the young and energetic people who launched Flora on April 29 gave me the chance

Good friends who had worked together in several Bloomington restaurants, they had their dream well planned out. David Tallent, the one who really enjoyed the cooking, would go to culinary school. BJ Schmuhl would hone his managerial skills. The third would remain a silent and invisible partner, building the capital to set them all up. They figured they would be ready around 2005.

When Flora came up for sale in the fall of 2002, it seemed like the right place, even if the wrong time. The two still in Bloomington called Dave, newly graduated from the Culinary Institute of America and working as a sous chef in Atlanta with his fiancée, pastry chef Kristen Britton. They told him they'd found a winner. Dave and Kris flew up for the weekend, took a look at the place and decided they could make it happen.

By early spring it was happening, if not so smoothly as they'd hoped. Minor renovations had morphed into major construction. By the time I arrived on the scene, a week or so before they opened, most of the work was done. The place was in a controlled bustle — not quite a panic, but the energy fizzed.

Friends and family had adopted the project. Kris's dad was adjusting lighting fixtures. David's dad stopped by. Workers, appliance installers, a harried contractor constantly moved in and out. David, Kris and BJ were everywhere, responding to questions, answering the phone. And then there was me, trying to stay out of the way, dazzled by the transformation.

Gone were the cinder block walls, tiled floors, and the bathroom shower that had marked the former Flora — replaced with deep teal walls, gorgeous funky green upholstery, warm wood floors and an all new bathroom. Upstairs the décor was clubby — a classy red and back.

The massive overhaul had pushed opening day months later than they had expected, but it was finally upon them.

The soft opening, the weekend before the targeted Tuesday, was a hit. Friends, family, community and business acquaintances had been invited for cocktail food on Friday and Saturday nights and everyone had a wonderful time, even though the deep fryer and a couple of burners on the stove weren't working well.

By Monday, the reason for the kitchen malfunctions was apparent — the hose delivering gas to the kitchen was not the right size to supply the new equipment they had installed. At the eleventh hour, they were running a new gas line. They skipped their Monday night menu run-through, and stayed closed for Tuesday lunch, but managed to open for dinner.

It wasn't packed that night, but it was as busy as you'd want to be the first time you were cooking and serving the full menu. The place was gleaming, the flowers spectacular, the wait staff eager to put their intensive training to work. BJ, just turned 26, greeted diners with the careful look of a man who was living his dream and feared to wake himself up. Out in the dining room, where we ate lobster risotto and braised lamb shanks, everything we could see and taste was perfect.

What we couldn't see was another story. As we left we stopped to congratulate Dave and Kris. Their faces were grim. Dave, always ruddy, was a deep magenta from the kitchen heat, and looked like he was contemplating a heart attack. He told me later he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. What had he gotten himself into?

A few days passed. On Saturday they served 91 dinners. Although Dave and Kris had graciously given me permission to hang around the kitchen one night, I thought it would be politic to give them some breathing space. By the time I took up my observer's post between the cold station and the stove, the restaurant had been opened a week and a half.

Dave was one cook short that night so he was at the stove himself instead of doing his usual expediting, plating, and saucing. By 7:30 the yellow order tickets began to line up in the stainless clip above the stove, fluttering in the heat. The joking banter quieted in the small kitchen, the cooks intent on the food.

They concentrated on the tickets, stripping them off one by one as the plates went out. New tickets appeared. One hour passed, and another. When they finally looked up and saw a lone ticket remaining, the tension eased. They exhaled. They smiled. It seemed like a good moment to order my own dinner, and go sit down in the dining room. I didn't know about them, but I was exhausted.

Dave sat with me as I ate — a big man, relaxed now, and happy to chat. I was happy myself. When David talks about food, and the local ingredients he has discovered, his voice becomes almost reverent, as though he is talking about rare jewels or exotic blooms. The venison from a Martinsville farm, the 10 pounds of fresh asparagus scored from a local farmer, the pancetta he would cure himself, the regional cheeses — found treasures all. His eyes light up, his cheeks turn pinker, his voice gets hushed. The man is in love with food.

His menu reflects that love and the influence of his two food heroes: Alice Waters, whose Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse set the national standard for using seasonal local ingredients and Thomas Keller, whose genius and creativity have led many in the food world to declare his French Laundry in northern California the finest restaurant in the U.S. I've eaten at both and I must say, Dave has a fine eye for heroes.

Given such role models, it goes without saying that the menu at Flora will change seasonally. In its opening month it featured such classically prepared dishes as filet mignon with wild mushrooms and a Bordelaise sauce, house-made pastas, and grilled center-cut pork chops (brined!) with swiss chard and potatoes au gratin. The lunch menu offers steak frites with a killer Béarnaise sauce (the twice-fried fries are as good as they come) and an eggplant parmesan that made my heart sing.

Kris's desserts are in the same spirit — including a "nearly flourless" chocolate cake with white chocolate coffee cream, and a cherry pie with house-made vanilla bean ice cream that has you licking the plate.

The first time Dave and I had talked food, before I had eaten a bite of his cooking, I went home impressed, but nervous that this was just too good to be true. "He's got all the right answers," I told my husband. "If the man can cook, we're in hog heaven."

Sitting across the table from him as he reflected on the lessons learned from his first week and a half in business, and blissfully eating my seared scallops in black truffle vinaigrette, I wasn't nervous any more.

Let me tell you, the man can cook.

Congratulations to Dave and Kris Tallent, who got married in northern California the last week of May.

Flora is now open for lunch, dinner, and a late night bar food service from Tuesdays through Saturdays. Lunch entrees are in the $7-$9 range, dinner entrees from $12-$24. Reservations are suggested.