Anthology has arrived after months of anticipation about what promised to be an acoustically perfect, retro-style supper club.

Like the famous supper clubs of yesteryear (The Brown Derby, The Cotton Club, The Persian Room), the vibe at Anthology depends on who’s performing and on what you consume during the shows. The club’s grandeur encompasses booths and tables ascending three levels, offering unobstructed views of the stage no matter where you sit. Renowned and local jazz, world music and blues musicians have thus far graced the playbill six nights a week.

Having missed the supper-club craze of past generations, my dining companion and I debuted our evening with a few lessons in eat-to-the-music etiquette. The featured artist of the evening was singer/guitarist Kenny Rankin, famous for hypnotizing audiences with tranquil love ballads sung in pristine tenor. We visited on a last-minute crapshoot and to a full house, ’though had we been fully aware of Rankin’s pillowy melodies and his priggish fan base, we would have chosen a livelier act on a different night.

Shows start usually at 7:30 p.m., and the kitchen fires up at 5 p.m. The majority of patrons were already clearing their last courses when we arrived a half-hour before curtain call to a floor table – a telling clue that toe tapping to live music while cutting steak could be tricky, and that you should get here much earlier if embarking on multiple courses.

We indulged in some good reds by the glass and assorted breads made daily in Anthology’s pastry room. From the menu’s “first-set” of small plates, we progressed to Crispy Summer Eggplant draped over fresh buffalo mozzarella. So comforting and delicious were these thin eggplant slices, you’d swear that an Italian grandmother dredged them in her secret herbed breadcrumbs and fried them from her heart. The dish should really be given full entrée status. A duet of miniature Maytag Blue Cheese Soufflés were light and springy, pairing marvelously with red and green lettuces and luscious cherry reduction.

As a big screen above the empty stage projected a nightclub performance of Ella Fitzgerald in her earlier days, my companion and I continued in culinary discussion, agreeing that our Roasted Heirloom Soup tasted plain compared to the coarsely diced heirloom tomatoes sitting alongside. But we loved the two diminutive wedges of a grilled cheese sandwich on the plate, made with Gruyere or Emmenthaler, we guessed. Too bad the kitchen doesn’t double the portion.

Our final, and most disappointing, appetizer was Crispy Rock Shrimp Salad – basically popcorn shrimp that receives a heavy shake of salt before being battered and fried. The shrimp were piled into a delicate potato nest and served with a repeat of lettuces hiding a spunky apple cider aioli.

After a talented local blues duo warmed up the stage for the great Rankin, the room went library-quiet, and it became imperative that we zip our lips and avoid any noisy collisions of fork to plate. A woman sitting next to us in the tightly arranged dining area directed a nun-like “shhh” at us when we whispered to each other about our fondness for the Smoked Southern Fried Chicken. The batter encasing the poultry (all breast pieces) tasted of the good, traditional buttermilk recipe – but with a smoky overtone that resembled country bacon. A creamy and delicious corn pudding on a canoe-shaped plate delivered a spicy surprise. And the addition of lightly mayo-ed red cabbage slaw and hearty potato salad speckled with diced cucumber gave the entire meal a down-home quality worth a mid-song applause.

Grilled lamb chops from Colorado were succulent and came with a sheet of Asiago cheese over them, plus indistinguishable fleecy white foam on the side that added a touch more fattiness to the glistening meat. Conversely, not a trace of moisture could be found in the Lemon Herb Crusted Northern Halibut, which contained merely a twang of citrus and seemed overcooked by a couple of deadly minutes. A wisp of pleasing parsley root purée on the plate helped to re-hydrate the fish, bite by bite.

To clear up the confusion over admission prices and dining options, there is no ticket charge on Thursday nights, which is when the house band takes the stage. And you don’t need to buy a concert ticket on the other days if dining between 5 and 7:30 p.m., before the headline performances start. Otherwise, you pay the concert price, plus a $20 minimum per person for food and/or drinks.

Aspire to a floor table if you’re a die-hard fan of the evening’s entertainment, because you will hear more clearly, and chitchat from fellow diners will be non-existent. The second and third levels offer more space between tables and booths – so you don’t have to pass notes to your dinner companions when asking them the color of their underwear. A low tone of voice is nonetheless recommended in both dining areas.

A stalwart trio of chefs runs Anthology’s kitchen. Executive Chef Jim Phillips hails from Pamplemousse Grille and studied in Brussels to master the fine points of French cuisine. He’s joined by consulting Chef Bradley Ogden, who opened a namesake restaurant in Caesar’s Palace that earned an award in 2004 from the James Beard Foundation, plus Sous Chef Mike Davis, who formerly headed up the kitchen at Dobson’s.

The menu focuses on dishes that embrace seasonal ingredients and deliver flair in both presentation and taste – Slow Cooked Alaskan Salmon with bean stew, Take Four Oysters served with champagne, ice and caviar, and Prime Rib Cap Steak. From the “encore” list are Homemade Cream Donuts, Tapicoa Pudding cooked to order and Trio of Warm Cupcakes.

Anthology is an exciting addition to San Diego’s nightlife and dining scene. And the jazz greats of both today and yesterday will surely enjoy a warm embrace here.