Melograno

A light sage and tomato "acquapazza" broth for simmering is the key to the fillets of fresh branzino. The creamy richness of truffled wine sauce and more artichokes, meanwhile, was substantial enough to stand up to an oil-rich fillet of seared black cod.

An autumnal stuffing of dried figs and walnuts plumped two beautifully roasted quails tanged with a glaze of reduced pomegranate (the English translation of melograno). A touch of balsamic vinegar gave just the right sweet-tart kiss to the richly braised, fork-tender short rib over polenta.

The addictively homey chicken Senese, a lightly crisped cutlet topped with soft folds of prosciutto, peppery arugula, and milky chunks of cool mozzarella, is the kind of thing Mamma would make - if she lived in Rome and really loved you.

There's no doubt Melograno's tiramisu comes from that same place - an egg-rich family recipe that layers creamy, marsala-scented zabaglione and mascarpone with espresso-soaked ladyfingers in a glass bowl dusted with cocoa. I tried, with little success, not to eat it all.

There are more distinctive sweets: a ginger-tinged creme brulee, a coconut panna cotta, a surprisingly exotic ciabatta bread pudding perfumed with star anise, cardamom and pistachios. But it's the tiramisu, that ubiquitous Italian dessert elevated from the mundane, that best symbolizes what makes Melograno so special.

This restaurant has built a following on its gift for making a familiar Philly concept, the Italian BYOB, as good as it can be. I'm just thrilled to know this little gem survived the move to larger quarters, and that Gianluca Demontis didn't forget to pack his pinch of magic.