By Paul Reidinger

THE AMERICAN WAY of eating has long shown signs of dispensing with such tedious conventions as tables and chairs, utensils and manners. It has been found expedient, in particular, to merge the functions of munching and driving; "drive-thru" windows are ubiquitous, as is the cup holder, a revolutionary convenience that is to the modern car what the automatic transmission was a generation ago. Today's cup holders are huge – designed, I guess, to accommodate those 40-ounce flagons of soda we politely designate as "large."

There is good, or maybe I mean perverse, fun to be had in sitting at a busy intersection and observing the drivers as they flow through. Many are on the phone, of course, complaining about the erratic driving of other drivers on the phone; many others have their faces half-buried in huge cheeseburgers or have just come up for breath, lips smacking like goldfish in an unclean bowl. A good vantage point for this sort of city sport is Tapeo at the Metro City Bar, on the second floor of a building at the epic intersection of Market, 16th, and Noe Streets. An added, and slightly ironic, attraction is that while observing the parade of noshing motorists, you can do a little noshing yourself, in a forum that isn't quite a restaurant and isn't quite a bar, either.

It is, I suppose, a kind of gay tapas bar, and chef Greg León's plates are smallish, though not really small. The big news is that the food is exquisite, imaginatively conceived (though still recognizably Spanish), and stylishly executed. You would have to do some serious poking around, in fact, if you hoped to find tapas this sophisticated in Barcelona.

León's menu is not completely devoid of the standards. I have never seen a tapas menu, here or there, that did not offer some version of piquillo peppers, the tapered, modestly fiery Navarre delicacy that is most often stuffed with herbed cheese. León fills his version ($7) with a fluffy, briny purée of potatoes, garlic, and bacalao (salt cod, an Iberian staple) and goes on to bathe it with a sauce of roasted red bell peppers, lemon, parsley, and garlic.

If one characteristic of traditional tapas food is simplicity and ease of preparation, a measure of León's seriousness is the labor several of his dishes require. A large pat of goat cheese ($5.50), for instance, gets a crusting of sunflower seeds, which is then turned a crisp gold by panfrying; the pat arrives with slices of grilled country bread and – most striking – endive leaves that have had the bitterness grilled right out of them. They are tender and succulent and could easily pass for fennel root except for the absence of licorice perfume. Similarly crusted, this time with chopped almonds and pistachio nuts, are prawns ($8.50), which then make their way to the deep fryer before donning a light coat of tomato broth and lemon vinaigrette.

I did not like the sautéed duck livers ($6) – too rich, despite an attractively acidic, and vaguely Moorish, accompaniment of orange segments, clove, and cinnamon in an orange-juice reduction. A better meat-and-fruit combination is the chorizo ($6.50), grilled sausages sliced on the bias and served with chunks of apple in an apple-cider vinegar reduction.

Random notes: in the dining area you sit on retro-high-style high chairs, which swivel, which makes surveying the prospect easy, from scoping out street traffic to observing any commotion at the pool table up a short flight of stairs to studying the kitchen behind the bar for signs of food.

Change of venue: Maya's (Next Door). Quite a few high-end restaurants are planning to launch satellites serving high-quality, low-cost street or finger food, but tomorrow is today at Maya, the splendid haute-Mexican place in SoMa. During the weekday lunch hour the restaurant now runs a kind of take-out taco stand from a length of handsome counter to the left of the entryway. It's a little like getting on a plane and taking a wistful glance in the direction of first class before traipsing the other way to coach – but if the food in coach were anywhere near as good as at Maya (Next Door), people would be swarming to fly coach.

As it is, they're swarming for their lunchtime taco fix. A set of three grilled to order are in the $5 to $6 range; my own taco fixation has to do with fish, and Maya's effort ($5.95) is delicious: fish's firm white flesh lightly crisped; soft, fresh tortillas; and a full-throated supporting cast of tomatoes, onion, cabbage, cilantro, and a creamy chipotle salsa.

Little grace notes inevitably creep into the food from the powerhouse kitchen. A good example is a burro ($5.40) filled with chicken in pipian (toasted pumpkinseed) sauce, which gracefully balances smoky, nutty, and bitter flavors and is not something you would necessarily find at your typical taquería.

Reality check: the chips can be greasy and stale. The guacamole ($3), on the other hand, is quite fine, heavy with chunks of ripe avocado. The queue can be a little ragged, and the turnaround time for food can vary but on the whole seems reasonably fast. The courtyard offers limited seating – high chairs (again!) at high tables, a near-ideal forum (weather permitting) for eating while watching people driving while eating.

Tapeo. 3600 16th St. (at Market), S.F. (415) 703-9750. Dinner: Mon.-Fri., 5:30-10 p.m.; Sat.-Sun., 2 p.m.-midnight. Full bar. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Moderately noisy. Maya (Next Door). 303 Second St. (at Harrison), S.F. (415) 543-2928. Lunch: Mon.-Fri., 11:30 a.m.-2 p.m. Cash only. Noise not an issue. Wheelchair accessible.