Kanella

Before he left Philadelphia and returned to Cyprus a few years ago, chef Konstantinos Pitsillides had the charming habit of leaving the occasional late-night tirade on my voice mail.

The simple pleasures of traditional foods were forever being snubbed, he'd grumble, in favor of "trendy fusion" fakery. The slow-braised virtues of secondary cuts and nose-to-tail cookery - the joys of goat, game, and ancient grains - were being ignored in our filet mignon culture.

I never took it personally. After all, I'd given a glowing review to the beguiling Cypriot-Greek flavors Pitsillides conjured during his chef stint at the short-lived Meze in the Italian Market. These rants, sometimes left nameless but always seasoned with a distinctive Mediterranean accent as salty as haloumi cheese, seemed directed at a wider, unappreciative world.

And so in 2006, Pitsillides left Philadelphia, where wife Caroline Christian grew up, and returned to Cyprus, where his family have been butchers, tanners, and farmers for generations.

But the nostalgic homecoming lasted only nine months before they came back.

"Over there [in Cyprus] it was even worse," he groaned. "All they want is McDonalds and Asian pretentious food. It went against my nature."

Cyprus' loss is our gain. Because Philadelphians have been given a second chance to appreciate that unique "nature" at Kanella, his nearly year-old BYOB at 10th and Spruce. And after several memorable meals there, marked by soulful stews, whole dorados grilled in grape leaves, and flavors resonant of the sun-baked history of his island, I appreciate that nature more than ever.

We have precious few chefs so devoted to celebrating rustic ethnic cooking with the blend of passion, attention to detail, and culinary skill that Pitsillides has. And he delivers his unique country cooking with the personality and uncompromising conviction of a great folk singer.

He is especially masterful at redeeming the nearly lost art of the braise and the stew. The venison osso buco, less tender than the typical veal but far more flavorful, luxuriated over bulgur wheat in a gravy exotic with cardamom, coriander, cinnamon and cumin. Cinnamon stick, for which the restaurant is named, is less heavy-handed here than in his earlier cooking at Meze. But it's an ever-present subtext, nonetheless, working like a key to unlock a spice box of other flavors.