Once you get over the initial joy of discovering a new Korean barbecue restaurant on Chestnut Street, the next thing you notice at Miran is the mass of squiggly aluminum contraptions hanging from the ceiling. In this otherwise sedate room dressed in pale yellow and cherry wood they look oddly futuristic, like long robot arms with flashlights for hands, or some sort of intergalactic flight gear getting ready for takeoff. In fact, they're telescoping exhaust fans, which drop down at the touch of a button and are supposed to suck up the smoke from searing meat.

They have another function, which is to suck in curious diners. After opening last spring where the pan-Asian Midori Mart grocery once peddled udon and furikake, Miran is already swarmed. In general, the restaurant staff seems slightly unprepared for high volumes of patrons — on a weekend night, there was a line out the door while several tables had yet to be cleared. The two servers on the shift rushed around, balancing hostess duties, plastic pitchers of water and plates of hot stir-fries with peppery steam.

Even so, the banchan — the complimentary snacks that accompany most of the barbecue, hot pot and rice dishes — arrived promptly. (Rice dishes also come with a bowl of miso soup. And at less than 10 dollars, the lunch specials, which include miso, rice and salad, are a terrific value.) Banchan is a traditional part of the meal but it also just seems like good business practice. Small plates of julienned daikon radish in vinegar, a shriveled bundle of cabbage head kimchee, glistening, garlicky strands of green seaweed with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and tiny metallic anchovies sauteed with sugar were fanned out around the table. And if that wasn't enough, they were replenished when we polished them off.

While there are "appetizers" on the menu, food is generally served as it is ready rather than orchestrated as courses. After the banchan, we dug into a warm steamer basket of pork and shrimp dumplings with delicate wrapping; their meat filling, minced with sprouts, kimchee and chives, had a pleasantly crunchy texture. Then there were wedges of kimchee pancake, a thin flap of crepe sandwiching pickled cabbage and scallions and fried in sesame oil, and rice cakes, two-inch-long cylinders of rice powder that's been steamed into a gelatinous texture, which are then bathed in a bracingly sharp chili paste.

When it's time to barbecue, a server turns on the burner and hits the switch for the fan until it extends fully. It's countdown time. Marinated raw meat (we chose the classic sliced beef, bulgogi) arrives on a plate with scallions, along with a second plate of chili pepper slices and garlic cloves, plus a pile of lettuce leaves and a dish of red chili paste. While we put the meat directly over the grill, the server showed us how to cook the garlic cloves in a small cup of sesame oil. Miran seems genuinely pleased to share Korean food with the uninitiated. You are encouraged to cook on your own but you might also get a tutorial and the occasional extra table visit to help flip your beef.

Once it's cooked, you roll up the meat, garlic and scallions into a lettuce leaf with a dab of chili paste. The whole thing is generally consumed by stuffing it into your mouth before it drips out and runs down your arm.

About two or three lettuce wraps in, I was disappointed to see that the fans that look so cool are not terribly functional. With more than three people using the barbecues, the narrow room grew smoky. I also came to the conclusion that while the meat was fresh and tender, the barbecue marinade could have used a little more kick.

Likewise, Nak Ji Bok Um, octopus and rice sticks stir-fried in a vibrantly red chili paste sauce, had a wonderful, smoky flavor. Unfortunately some of the octopus was overly chewy, and paired with the gummy rice sticks, the combination was a little challenging, mastication-wise.

There are other dishes worth trying, like the homey Galbi Tang, a hot pot of beef short ribs. The hefty chunks of meat cook in beef broth with fine cellophane noodles, onions and a feathery ribbon of egg. You scoop up the meat and vegetables and eat it with rice.

Dessert is another freebie: carefully peeled orange quadrants with toothpicks that come with the check. Dinner at Miran wasn't perfect but it was certainly convivial, and that's what you remember long after the exhaust fan returns to its original locked and upright position.

Hours: Mon.-Sat., 11 a.m.-3 p.m.; 5-10 p.m.

Appetizers, $4-$10; entrees, $8-$17

Wheelchair accessible. No smoking. Reservations accepted. Credit cards accepted.