Inside the elegant facade, where the name of a long-gone florist, H.H. Battles, is still scrolled in stained glass above the door, you could be inside a Bourbon Street Creole palace.

There's a grand staircase just beyond the bar that sweeps up to a mezzanine where tables perch behind wrought-iron-trimmed galleries. Bead-draped chandeliers dangle over a peach-colored dining room. And there are yet more rooms another floor up, like the purple party lounge with black leather couches and a boat that gets filled with ice and oysters for particularly grand soirees. There's such an air of Southern decadence to the space, which rambles up even farther, the only thing missing is the bordello.

At the very least, you can get a lusty bowl of good mahogany-brown seafood gumbo, or an addictive pile of deep-fried eggplant sticks tossed, down-home-style, with Tabasco and powdered sugar. That's because there is a real New Orleanian presiding here now: John Mims.

Perhaps that reflection of his native town in this classic Philadelphia space - its 80 years as a florist followed by a long string of eateries - is what called to Mims like a homing beacon. Because the ever-restless restaurateur swears he's looking to settle in.

That may be a surprise to those who've seen Mims as a man in perpetual motion since he first rose to prominence as the region's most reliable New Orleans chef nearly a decade ago at the popular BYOB Carmine's Creole Kitchen, in Havertown. Every couple of years or so, he'd move Carmine's to a bigger new location, first to Narberth, then to Bryn Mawr, where, since arriving a year ago, he said the long-desired acquisition of a liquor license hadn't been all it was cracked up to be.

The bigger locations haven't always translated into better cooking, either, judging by a sloppily cooked brunch I ate in Bryn Mawr this year. But the chance to actually own his own building prompted Mims to also take on this venture downtown.

He has some work to do before it lives up to its grand promise. The venerable space (circa 1856), which has been home to London, Odeon, Bistro Bix, Lilies and TPDS, could use more than just a fresh coat of paint. The leather chairs on the mezzanine were missing some necessary springs.

The service is already in diligent form. But it is in the kitchen where Les Bons Temps really needs to find its beat. I've long appreciated Mims as one of the few local chefs who understood how to convey the full-throttle gusto of Louisiana cooking without falling into cliches. Even so, he has occasionally struggled with consistency, with a tendency to oversalt, overspice and overindulge rich sauces.

Those issues dogged some of our meals here, like a $28 crab-cake special that smoked with too much Tabasco heat, but came oddly garnished with fridge-cold blackened shrimp. Or the coffee-rubbed pork tenderloin that tasted more of scorched crust than java, and was practically welded to the plate beneath a thick flow of demiglace.

It is a shame that the inconsistencies seem to strike the high-priced entrees, a fact that put this two-bell rating in jeopardy. But I still found plenty to remind me why I'm a Mims fan to begin with - in particular with the opening plates.

In addition to his spot-on classics of gumbo and eggplant beignets, there were worthy standards from the Carmine's canon. There was creamy crab cheesecake with an undertone of smoked gouda. Sea scallops crusted with crispy couscous came over a tangy balsamic-currant reduction. The rich wild mushroom bisque, tinged with spice and fistfuls of crab, was as addictive as the gumbo.

As in any good New Orleans kitchen, "deep fried" is a major food group. The croquettes of smoky jambalaya studded with duck confit were among the best bets. The gingery crawfish spring rolls were a surprisingly tasty example of the Cajun-Asian fusion that Mims explored further with his "Casian" tuna tartare. Even the fresh flavors here, like the sweet crab salad mounded over slow-roasted tomatoes, weren't complete without a fried tidbit, like the crab-and-rice boulet that added crunch to the creamy salad.

In some cases, though, that fried flourish was a dish's downfall. The crispy crawfish tails, for example, were a totally unnecessary and chewy addition to an otherwise satisfying entree of tender shrimp with smoked gouda grits. The thick, deep-fried wedge of smoked mozzarella was an awkward exclamation point atop a sorely overcooked $26 strip steak.

I know Mims has some finesse in him after tasting a delicate Creole bouillabaisse called "courtbouillon," teeming with seafood - snapper, scallops and shrimp - poached in the Pernod-spiked tomato broth. But even in the midsummer's swelter, his exuberance is clearly reserved for platters that come with a coronary challenge - like the jambalaya heaped with slow-cooked pork, blackened duck, fried oysters and a smoked bacon gravy. The tastiest entree of my final July visit, a mountain of wine-braised short ribs over truffled sweet potatoes, would have been the perfect fuel for a winter hibernation.

Of course in sultry New Orleans, richness knows no season, which is a good thing when it comes to dessert. And these indulgences were among the best flavors here, from the coconut cream pie to the custard-soaked, caramel-streaked sticky bun bread pudding, and a chocolate bourbon pecan pie that had us magnetized.

My guest, a fellow former New Orleanian, even evoked comparisons to some of the Big Easy's better pecan pies as our forks fenced for last bites. Les Bons Temps may not be perfect yet, but this dessert made it easy to imagine the possibilities.