So often there’s a good story behind the naming of a restaurant. Partners John Papp and Stan Schwartz held a contest in 1979 to name the restaurant they have purchased, which sat at the intersection of Water and Church Streets in quaint Stonington Village. Noah’s seemed like a natural, where water intersects faith, and it embodied the idea of a fresh start.

Fresh is certainly what you get at Noah’s, where everything is made on the premises. Breads are displayed in the window, and there’s a pastry case toward the rear. Noah’s makes its own breads, desserts, even ice creams, salad dressings and cream soda.

Simple cooking is harder to do well, Papp avers. You can hide a lot under a barrage of ingredients.

Claire Criscula, of Claire’s Corner Copia in New Haven, would agree. On this Saturday night, Claire, husband Frank and I occupied a charming window table at Noah’s. I was fortunate to have Claire and Frank along because Claire, just out with a paperback release of her second of three books.( Claire’s Classic American Vegetarian Cooking), was leaving the following morning on a whirlwind tour of television appearances in Texas, where they could use more vegetarians, and Portland, Oregon, where they could use fewer. My opinions, not hers.

On our table, a bud vase held daisies and spearmint leaves. We started with a terrific assortment of fresh breads. Schwartz is a fourth-generation baker. ( Doesn’t that only happen in Europe?) His family owns the well know Alter’s Bakery in Tarrytown, New York, where a coal fired oven extends under the street.

We were feeling celebratory, and a bottle of strong Spanish red wine($16) suited our mood. I felt vaguely guilty as Frank and I shared appetizers of sautéed Maryland soft-shell crab ($8), bacon and Vermont Cheddar quiche ($2.95) and chicken liver pate’ with sherry and pistachios ($4.75) while vegetarian Claire was confined to the fresh bread and a Bulgarian cucumber yogurt soup ($2.85). My guilt dissipated when I tasted Claire’s chilled soup flavored with garlic and perhaps dill. She wasn’t suffering on the sideline.

In the meantime, Frank and I blissed out over the rich pate’, the eggy quiche and the soft shell crab drizzled with a bitting butter-lemon sauce. Noah’s soft-shell crab provides more pleasure than should be allowed by law. Claire sneaked a taste of the quiche ‘s crust, which was almost as light and flaky as puff pastry. “Good things are in store when it comes to dessert,” she predicted.

Salads that come with dinner may be endangered, but they’re not extinct. Claire pronounced ” beautifully balanced” a wild assortment of greens delicately coated with balsamic vinaigrette.

There were two vegetarian dinner options: a pesto fettuccine (which another vegetarian friend later raved about) and a fettuccine Claire tried with native tomatoes, homegrown basil, garlic and olive oil ($11.50). claire enjoyed her pasta but felt it could have used a little more cooking, olive oil and a bigger plate so the pasta didn’t cling together.

Frank had a seafood stew of lobster, shrimp, clams, scallpos and fish($17.95). Squid made an unbilled cameo, along with saffron-yellow potato and rice. A separate plate was brought for the shells. When our waiter asked Frank, ” How was it?” , he tilted up his clean bowl in answer.

I, too, cleaned my plate. Who could resist spice-rubbed monkfish with a fresh mango lime relish ($15.95)?

Claire’s prediction regarding the desserts ($4.25) proved to be an understatement. ” What’s a daffodil cake?” ( really more of a sponge cake) came with a delightful peach sabayon sauce.

Tough to top? Maybe. Frank had a pear, apricot and pistachio bread pudding, I had a peach shortcake (presented like a cake) with raw peach and slivered almonds.

slow-spinning fans hanging from the pressed tin ceiling, great food and great company made time seem to stand still. We left regretfully. We drove past historic row houses to the tip of Stonington Point, surrounded on three sides by Stonington Harbor, Fisher Island Sound and Little Narragansett Bay. We identified the not so distant lights of Rhode Island, a green point light and blinking red channel markers.

“Red-right-returning,” I recited. Knowing I would.