Maia

Their eye for quality touches every aspect of Maia, from the house-made charcuterie and smoked salmon to the hearty, affordable menu that feeds the bistro, including juicy burgers with sharp local cheddar and amazingly crisp frites, thin Alsatian cheese tartes scattered with sweet onions and house-smoked ham, and the freshly made mozzarella on Maia's delicate-crusted pizzas. My only real disappointment at a downstairs lunch (aside from bland agnolotti) was the kobe pastrami, which tasted more like smoked roast beef than a pepper-crusted pink deli indulgence.

It is upstairs, though, where Maia hits its culinary mark, with a breadth of wit, technique and vivid flavors that make it a true successor to (now shuttered) Striped Bass as our modern seafood mecca.

That smoked tuna starter was a knockout, the hickory tang focusing the sweetness of raw fish against the piquance of a silky green-olive puree. But there were many other winners. A checkerboard mosaic of raw salmon, yellowtail and tuna was scattered with celery salt and glittery cubes of tart citrus gelee. Creamy coins of hazelnut-crusted foie gras came shingled with sweet warm rounds of barbecued eel. The meltingly soft double-headed prawn (actually two crustaceans joined at the tail with meat glue) reposed over a mound of creamy leeks.

There were equally stunning entrees, like the T-bone of poached halibut over fregola sarda filled with fennel and house-cured guanciale, or the crispy snapper with basiled summer beans and tender rings of oil-poached calamari threaded with chorizo slivers.

A spectacular triptych of lamb - succulent roasted chops, morsels of tangy leg confit tossed in salad, a round of Morroccan-spiced Merguez sausage - gives carnivores something to crave, too. A deconstructed ribeye, on the other hand, would have been tastier with its fatty parts back on.

Pastry chef Julie Waters didn't ease up for dessert. There was gingery cold strawberry soup scattered with candied pistachios. Fluffy mint-chocolate cake topped with minted semifreddo was crowned with a sheer chocolate crisp studded with salty pretzels. Warm semolina pudding balanced flowering kumquats and grapefruit sorbet. Chocolate tart shells oozed with creamy caramel centers. Vanilla cream gushed from tiny brioche beignets called bamboloni - a finishing wink to Patrick Feury's long-ago chef stint at Avenue B.

Yes, Maia is many things, as much a nod to the collective experiences of its talented team as it is a mega-size gamble to alter the landscape of Main Line dining. It even comes with a map. But so far, all paths lead to destinations well fed.