Book on Abruzzi turns into a cafe

It was just shy of two years ago that I first encountered a leap of faith called Le Virtú, stripped to the studs in the gutted former offices of the Italian Newspaper, at what was then commonly referred to as the weaker end of E. Passyunk Avenue, a block off Broad.

The target date for opening was still four months out, but owners Francis Cratil (his paternal grandfather's name in Abruzzi was Cretarola) and his wife, Cathy Lee, who'd been scouring Abruzzi's rural mountains for material for a book, were busily lining up an Abruzzese chef, and nailing down sources for the region's celebrated saffron and truffles, cheeses and red wine.

Well, the spring target came and went. And another winter. The chef, Luciana Spurio (who now resides upstairs), got held up by immigration red tape. The plumbing-code gods required satisfaction. (Don't ask.) Even the burgundy menu jackets took forever to show.

So it was with sense of "At last!" as much as anything else that I popped into the newly opened restaurant a few weeks ago, a romantic mural of the scarlet-cloaked daughter of Iroio (the inspiration for Abruzzi's only opera of note) striding on one wall, the bar populated - who woulda thought? - by a gaggle of high-spirited Pittsburgh expats, one of whom, the soprano RoseMarie Peraino, was easily coaxed into launching into a few sweet bars of the Puccini classic O Mio Babbino Caro.

The ravioli a cioccolato that evening was thin, tender cocoa-infused ravioli stuffed with braised rabbit and grated amaretto cookies said to hail from the town of Sant' Omero; a lovely handmade pasta dish ($18), though far more subtly flavored than those ingredients might suggest.

There was also a soulful zuppa, the region's signature chicken soup (scrippelle m'busse), in which crepes rolled with pecorino perform the traditional Italian role of the noodle. (Note to kitchen: The soup was a joy, but along with several subsequent dishes - a few that were less than joyful - it was lukewarm. Turn up the heat!)

The less-than-joyful dishes? For my money, the fried platter was so overbreaded you couldn't tell the veal cutlet from the lamb chop. And my branzino sauteed with white wine, tomato and olive oil should visit a similar dish at Melograno, the corner trattoria at Spruce and 22d Streets, to see it done with more gusto.