When Peppercorns followed two earlier, short-lived restaurants in a low-profile strip mall deep in the heart of Perrysburg, it was competing with restaurants on two heavily traveled highways brack-eting the town. Croy's drew business off U.S. 20 and from the motels just off I-75, while at various times there were at least two attractive dining rooms along State Rt. 25.

Some veteran diners-out, including me, were rather pessimistic about Peppercorns' prospects. Fifth Street is a block outside Perrysburg's old downtown, and nearly a residential mile north of new commercial development on the south edge of town. Besides suffering from the low profile it shared with its location, it struck an outspoken critic, with whom many townspeople agreed, that the decor and menu were as wanting in character as a motel restaurant.

When I had dinner at Peppercorns last week, it happened, by accident, to be the fifth anniversary of its opening and successful survival. Mostly, it seems to me, the restaurant draws regular customers - local business people and residents - from the neighborhood that surrounds it. In addition to a fairly brisk dinner trade, it is one of only two moderately upscale restaurants in the area that serve lunch.

As for the critic who had compared it to a motel dining room, she was heard to say just recently that she now likes lunching there with friends.

To my mind it's fair to say that having survived a little awkward, self-conscious start, Peppercorns has settled in comfortably.

The entrance from a barely adequate parking lot is through a doorway into the shopping strip, and from there into the restaurant. The arrangement of dining rooms is a bit unusual; first a horseshoe bar surrounded by tables, the only space where smoking is allowed. Beyond, there are a handful of tables in a large alcove facing the bar, and beyond that, a larger, comfortably secluded dining room with a combination of tables and small cozy booths. One other bit of unconventional arrangement, by the way, is that the restrooms, close by the restaurant entry, are outside it, off the shopping strip hallway.

Making my way with the aid of a guttering vigil lamp on the table - the lighting is enough, I suppose, for young eyes - I was immediately attracted to a distinctive appetizer, one among eight generally conventional offerings. This is a generous serving of crayfish tails, much like miniature rock lobster tails. They're breaded, deep fried, and served with a tangy remoulade sauce. Cumulatively the sauce became spicier, but never so much as to obscure the faint, delicate flavor. Try it.

There are specials and more than a dozen entrees on the menu. Once more, I was drawn to a distinctive one: autumn pork. It's been on the menu, if memory serves me, ever since Peppercorns opened. Sauteed slices of pork tenderloin are garnished with apple slices and doused in a sweet-spicy brandy. It's a whiff of autumn on the plate, autumn as we dream of it - crisp, clear air, apples, fresh cider, the unforgettable aroma of burning leaves.

Of course, there are the usual roadhouse entries, from pork and veal chops to five steaks and slabs of prime rib; chicken, pasta combinations, and a seafood list that balances lake perch, pickerel, and whitefish against salt-water shrimp, tuna, and salmon done in contrasting ways, and king crab legs.

I've not yet had occasion to dip into the seafood, but I decided instead to try, one evening, a steak plate, tenderloin chunks sauteed, I believe, and served under a blanket of much-too-peppery blue cheese and whole-grain mustard. Beef tenderloin is too estimable to be obscured by overwhelmingly hot dressing.

Vegetable accompaniments vary from day to day; green peas once, carrots boiled tender another time. Whatever the side dish, it adds flavor and color to the dinner.

We're all accustomed to a menu note that the management will not be responsible for well-done steaks, but Peppercorns offers a different caution in small print at the foot of the page: “Consuming raw or undercooked meats may increase your risk of food-borne illness.” So there; you can have your rare or medium-rare steak, but if so, you're on your own.

French fries, whether they're cut chunky-style, large, small, or julienne, come to the table in far too large a serving. I sometimes think that if Peppercorns' owners reduced the serving size to something more manageable, they could afford better lighting.

First Published January 11, 2002, 12:03 p.m.