At The Sardine Factory, a chef blends a farmers market ethos into a steak and seafood tradition.

The Sardine Factory occupies a unique position. It has been a fine dining destination for 55 years, with famed dishes like abalone bisque that are considered fixtures on the menu. So the temptation would be to hold steady.

Yet Chef Benjamin Brandt wants to change things up a bit. One recent Friday, for instance, saw the kitchen preparing ahi tuna poke with avocado and a housemade ponzu – the latter a window into Brandt’s personality.

Several years ago, he was working alongside a Japanese chef who was reluctant – to the point of being unwilling – to share his ponzu secrets. So Brandt watched carefully as his kitchen partner prepared the recipe, and did so for month after month until he discovered every step.

An order of pan-fried sand dabs on a bed of lentils with broccolini on the side opens another window into the chef’s culinary soul. The fish had been pulled from Monterey Bay that morning, while the greens, well, as Brandt explains, “The broccolini is still warm from the sun when he brings it to me.”

In this case, “he” refers to one of the local farmers Brandt works with. The chef understands that many diners are interested in the where and when of ingredients. “There’s a story behind every dish I do,” Brandt notes. “It’s the little guys who make a big difference.”

He operates according to a bit of common sense: have good relationships with farmers. He also brings in foraged items, frequents the pier and roams farmers markets.

“I’m still exploring,” Brandt says. “I’m going to use everything I can from this ocean.”

The chef acknowledges that Sardine Factory’s menu is stacked with standards, and these will remain untouched. However, over his year at the helm alongside chef and co-owner Bert Cutino, Brandt has streamlined the menu and begun introducing feature dishes and specials that reflect the local, seasonal, California coastal theme.

All of this activity suits Cutino, the veteran chef who helped make Sardine Factory a standout. “If you don’t evolve, you’re going to be in trouble,” Cutino explains. “This chef is very creative, very talented. He and I think alike.”

Cutino made his reputation, as well as the restaurant’s, with a commitment to old-school innovation. The famous abalone bisque, for instance, was the result of experimentation within the bounds of a classic bisque and an eye on food cost. At the time, abalone from Monterey Bay was an inexpensive delicacy.

“Something wasn’t right,” Cutino recalls of his trials and errors while improvising the bisque recipe. “I saw a bottle of dry sherry and voila! It went over big, so big you can’t believe it.”

As a chef, Cutino has long been willing to try new dishes or bring a frivolous touch to a formal menu (consider the tater tots laced with parmesan and truffles, or popcorn dressed in Pecorino Romano butter). Yet the aura of fine dining tradition held Sardine Factory back from the global fusion and farm-to-table trends.

“We lost that for a while,” he observes.

Brandt completed his culinary studies at Le Cordon Bleu in San Francisco and then helmed kitchens at resorts and country clubs, becoming versed in variety, as well as the standards guests come to expect at such venues. That means he is prepared not only to play with trends, but also to reintroduce classics lost to fusion – think veal scallopini, perhaps, or lobster thermidor.

“I’m trying to do some stuff no one does around here,” he explains.

One of the traditions that tends to fall by the wayside in a time when small plates and shared plates have gained favor is the multi-course meal ending in dessert. Fewer restaurants emphasize dessert, but both Cutino and Brandt want that to change, at least at Sardine Factory.

“We want to jazz up all the desserts,” Cutino says, speaking about presentation – treats that look decadent and inviting, such as ice cream bon-bons served with dramatic dry ice flair. “And it better taste good.”

THE SARDINE FACTORY is at 701 Wave St., Monterey. 373-3775, sardinefactory.com