“Andy Warhol: The Fabulous Fifties” is a frothy cocktail of haute cuisine and high-heeled slippers, sprinkled with a few choice examples of Warhol’s breezy linear sketches of flowers, putti, and butterflies.

Yes, butterflies. And snails and stars, too.

It seems Warhol was as susceptible to a bad case of the “cutes” as any average American. The images on display at the Woodward Gallery are less art than artifacts of the glamorous postwar era of New York advertising. But they are testimony to Warhol’s prodigious output and his commitment to drawing.

In the decade prior to opening his art studio, the Factory, and immersing himself in the process of screen printing, Warhol enjoyed a lucrative and highly creative career as an award-winning graphic illustrator for magazines, advertising agencies, books, and television. He was, in fact, a consummate draftsman and, as is well known, an astute businessman. He constantly gifted his work to his employers as a means to attract new assignments. And he also gave his work freely to friends. His line could be bold, black, and curvilinear, or delicate and quavery. He drew children, pets, friends, dancers, and men to whom he was attracted.

The Woodward Gallery has on display some examples of Warhol’s commercial work. His fleurde-lis patterned shoes and stockings are among his most popular imagery from his tenure in the advertising business. The illustrations are mostly unsigned, but they have been authenticated by the Warhol Foundation, which safeguards the artist’s estate. This must have been a difficult task, as Warhol freely employed assistants as soon as he could afford them.

The majority of the images, however, are sheets taken from copies of “Wild Raspberries,” a limited-edition “cookbook” created by Warhol and his socialite friend Suzie Frankfurt for Bloomingdale’s in 1957. Julia Warhola, Andy’s mother, transcribed the text provided by Frankfurt in her distinctive cursive script, complete with innocent spelling mistakes, such as “lizzard.” Fewer than 100 copies of the book were printed, and Warhol hand-tinted the illustrations for the faux gourmet recipes himself. With titles such as “Salade de Alf Landon” and “Torte à la Dobosh,” the images and text spoof the complicated steps and expensive ingredients of fine dining. Spiny lobster tail, plovers’ eggs, and iguana are just a few of the suggested dishes. The breezy drawings and posh references gently satirize the book’s intended audience while simultaneously reinforcing their clubby self-identification as sophisticated consumers.

The use of color varies from sheet to sheet. Some are vividly colored in tangerine, lime, and hot pink; others also include gold leaf and pieces of collage. The images are simple line drawings in bold black ink. They float atop the paper’s white space and the written text is often crowded at the bottom of the page or wrapped around the image. The total effect is casual and free-form. A whimsical rendering of a roast pig trussed with red and white ribbons and surrounded by pink roses is a standout.

Also on view are sheets of giftwrap featuring a chunky series of suns, moons, birds, and butterflies. These sheets, like the putti and chubby women with bee-sting lips, show a more romantic side of Warhol, devoid of his detached appraisal of American commercial imagery. In these works, Warhol’s pen wants to please and finds release in the fantasia of decorative art.

One of the highlights of the exhibition is “Still-life with Orange,” a spare drawing of an empty plate, fork, pepper grinder, and glass made of broken, faint lines. The halved orange is the single element of color. Its citrusy presence immediately brings to mind breakfast. Warhol’s drawing of the iconic image of a slouching James Dean, which he then printed on gold leaf paper, is also compelling. The image is from another limited-edition book produced by Warhol. (The artist often reproduced his drawings by blotting a clean piece of paper against the inked original.) The printing process foreshadows Warhol’s eventual renunciation of painting, although he never completely abandoned drawing.

These work are more meaningful as mementos of Warhol’s meteoric success as a commercial illustrator than as original works of art. They offer relatively little new insight into the artist’s creative thinking when compared to other examples of his graphic oeuvre. As Warhol once said, “In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” But when you are Andy Warhol, every scribble gets its 15 minutes of fame, too.

Until December 29 (133 Eldridge St., between Broome and Delancey streets, 212-966-3411).