The first thing you question is the name of this restaurant, right? Any reader of British historical novels might recognize a kestrel as a small falcon, as indeed it is. And the American kestral (with an "a") used to be called a "sparrow hawk." So, in choosing this unusual name, co-owner/consulting chef Andy Husbands explained that he was making a statement about the establishment being an American bistro, drawing on American recipes. The name also points to Husbands and co-owner/chef Jason Santos’s penchant for making slight twists on old standards.

The lunch menu, for example, has Parmesan in the meatloaf, Creole spices on the fries, a burger au poivre. For the evening menu, the chefs spread their wings and come up with Prince Edward Island mussels, Hawaiian tuna, and New Orleans shrimp — and that’s just for appetizer options. For entrées, they head to the Southwest for taco-crusted tuna and a wild rice and mushroom quesadilla, to the West Coast for honey and hoisin duck, and back to the East for pan-seared New York sirloin.

Husbands and Santos aren’t afraid to fuse cuisines or cooking techniques, as the PEI mussels get both Southern spices and chorizo, and the duck is made confit-style by packing it in duck fat to roast and then frying it to get the skin crisp. Bill always has a soft spot for duck of any kind, and the combination of moist meat and crispy skin was irresistible.

The honey-hoisin sauce glazed the duck ($21), and a generous portion of plum sauce came on the side, for even more sweetness on the meat. Four hefty, deep-fried scallion pancakes, peeled cucumber "batons," and bean sprouts accompanied the two duck drumsticks and thighs. Bill loved the contrast in textures and tastes provided by the cukes and sprouts.

I was in Southwestern mode and went for the quesadilla ($17). It was one enormous flour tortilla that had been folded into quarters, so it made two layers of the rice-portobello mixture, with melted cheese inside, and a bit of fresh salsa and chipotle sour cream on top. This entire structure sat atop a mound of more rice, with black beans and Mexican spices. On the side were four fat wedges of fried plantain, sweet and salty at the same time. My only quibble with this dish is that the two kinds of rice were not that different — the wild rice of the filling was mixed with regular rice, so the rice inside the tortilla and underneath it weren’t that distinctive.

Having zoomed to our entrée choices, we did a process of elimination for the eight appetizers, plus two special ones that evening, and settled on the New Orleans-style shrimp. Four grilled shrimp were thoroughly drenched with a fiery sauce, and they came with a roasted lemon half and garlic toasts. I thought the shrimp were a tad underdone, but maybe that’s just me. The sauce was too hot for me to enjoy the bread soaked in it, but Bill quickly dispatched those carbs.

I instead dug into the basket of bread, which contained two pieces of focaccia drenched in oil and topped with carmelized onions, two halves of a tiny Parmesan-and-oregano muffin, and two biscuits. Wonderfully creative ideas for table bread, but all three were too heavy, somehow — quite unlike the light, airy, almost bird-like feeling that you experience in Kestral’s upstairs dining room — for my taste. The L-shaped room is dominated by its large uncurtained windows, with the barest minimum of exposed brick wall between each glassy expanse.

Inside, white linens and burgundy accents (one lush drape does fall across the corner window) create their own elegance. Downstairs, the décor is similar in the long section of the L, but there’s more of a hip tone to the bar area, where smoking is allowed.

The dessert menu is as intriguing as the rest of the offerings: root beer crème brûlée; a goat cheese tart with a black-pepper crust, topped with clementine marmalade; flourless chocolate cake with homemade marshmallow/graham cracker ice cream; and warm gingerbread with banana-mango salsa and caramel whipped cream ($7). We chose the last in that line-up and enjoyed the combination of flavors, especially when a bit of crystallized ginger hit the tongue. But, yes, we had no bananas in the salsa.

Kestral is a worthy contender on the Providence scene, with an ambitious kitchen and a warm ambiance. Its owners have three successful spots in Boston — Rouge, Sister Sorel (there’s another unusual spelling), and Tremont 647. They’ve learned what works there and they’re eager to make it work here.