Which N.J. restaurant is champion at farm-to-table concept?

Brick Farm Tavern in Hopewell is one of those exciting places.

OUTSIDE, the 19th-century farm in Hopewell has been restored to crisp, bucolic efficiency. A wooden fence lazily zigzags along the water and the walkway is fragrant with herbs.

Inside, the decor is restrained, simple and elegant; the owners have thankfully avoided the cliches of farmhouse decor. No tchotchkes here. The architectural star of the room is the floor, original hardwood more than two centuries old.

It's all pastoral and nostalgic and quaint, until you see that outsize photograph of the fox, in all its arrogance.

The fox is a daily nuisance to a farmer, says executive chef Greg Vassos. It is an animal to be respected.

The fox in the photo is a local fox. The photographer is local as well.

In the evolution of farm-to-table, the restaurant world has come to offer us two extremes. One is the lie of farm-to-table, where a menu's claim of local sourcing is just a marketing ploy. The other is local produce as fetish, where a baby carrot served on a tiny stick is meant as a revelation for the enlightened class, an exclusive end-time experience for which you'll pay dearly.

In the middle of those extremes are the restaurants that appreciate the vibrancy of local ingredients, but shy from elaborate preparations. Their argument: Allow the ingredient to shine. These chefs don't cook so much as they shop.

Finally, and most exciting, is the restaurant that no longer strives to be rustic, but is about refinement, with a chef who is no longer shocked by the inherent vibrancy of farm-fresh ingredients, but who knows what do with them.

Brick Farm Tavern is one of those exciting places. Yes, some moments are too precious and some are too rustic. Food is sometimes served as art, a still life on slabs of stone. And hay pops up as an ingredient in abundance. But the homemade artisanal bread also comes with a fat serving of whipped lardo.

And the restaurant, which opened in November, takes the farm-to-table concept into another dimension by reminding us of one plain-as-the-clouds-in-the-sky fact about farms. Which we all know, but somehow forget in our discussion of farm-to-table: animals.

The farm, Double Brook Farm owned by Jon and Robin McConaughy, is more than 800 acres, where hundreds of animals are pasture-raised. Chickens, lambs and pigs, many of which will make it onto the plate. And not just the prime cuts, as Vassos points out, but the entire animal. Thus, dinner dishes that showcase a trio of pork or beef prepared two ways. (So -- of course! -- a menu without fish.)

The animals are slaughtered on-site. (The farm is one of just two farms in the nation permitted to do so.) It's an event the employees are encouraged to witness; those who do are humbled and surprised, says the chef. The staff expects violence, a worst-case scenario, but the process is calm, clean and fast. Afterward, wasting any meat seems especially profane.

It's not just the fox that earns respect.

The gnocchi Bolognese ($16) showcases exactly what this restaurant is about, a menu staple -- even though the Bolognese is different each day, sometimes with lamb neck, other times with short rib, goat leg, Merguez. Then, onion, garlic, red wine and Jersey tomatoes. The gnocchi itself is magically light. You'll assume it begins with ricotta, but it's made with local potatoes. The Bolognese tastes both supple and pure.

The veloute ($11), with greens and potatoes, is profound, incredibly balanced (leaning toward greens), less dense than you expect and served at a perfect temperature, warm enough to seduce. The poached farm egg ($14) offers a celebration of the gentle ingredients of spring -- the farm-fresh egg, a few delicate baby asparagus, plus homemade ricotta, made from Hun-Val milk (a nearby farm, with its own goal of happy cows). The egg and asparagus are vibrant and fulsome, no comparison whatsoever to the pale replicas you have come to know. This dish is sensuous, but what makes it 3-D are the black olives, dehydrated and minced so fine as to appear as pepper flakes. These olives, scattered across the smear of ricotta, seem genius, an awakening.

This is what happens when farm meets chef.

The farm's Freedom Ranger chicken ($32) comes recommended. It is tender and dense, chicken breast as flavorful as dark meat and served, surprisingly, skin-on and with a soy and sesame sauce. As if it were sushi. And damn if it doesn't hold up. A sirloin duo ($44) delivers a savory cut of meat that tastes of ancient prowess, but even better is the elegant, sweet bourguignone in its own miniature cast-iron pot.

Desserts ($10) are not as successful. The lemon shortcake with a rhubarb sauce seemed an exercise in excess, with a rhubarb sauce that was too sweet and a cake too lemony. A chevre cheesecake intrigues on first bite, but soon becomes dull and thick, the consistency of a stick of cream cheese.

Vassos, who has worked with Eric Ripert at Blue (sister restaurant of Le Bernardin), was chef at Racine in Pottstown, Pa., and most recently worked at The Broadmoor in Colorado.

The other good news? Brick Farm Tavern is not a vanity project. "The restaurant is doing very well financially," says Vassos. In other words, this kind of all-out, farm-to-table experience isn't exclusively the purview of a wealthy patron willing to subsidize a sustainable experience. This can work.

What it requires, though, is incredible planning and organization. To use the whole animal, a chef must be mindful of his resources and creative when it comes to the less-popular cuts. As menus change -- and they sometimes change from early evening to late evening -- a chef must be thinking not just about dinner tonight, but dinner 12 weeks out. Vassos may be serving asparagus today, but he's already counting his ducklings for fall.

The irony, he says, is that we had it right 150 years ago. "It would be so cool if everyone could eat like this."

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