The notion probably flits across a million minds each year, but few ever take the leap. Fewer still are able to actually capture the elusive culinary essence of that journey and transport those flavors safely back home.

If you've eaten at handsome Le Virtù in South Philadelphia, you'll realize that Francis Cratil and his wife, Catherine Lee, are among the lucky few. And if you've had a chance to savor the homespun Abruzzese pastas topped with lamb and duck ragus, or to nibble on deep-fried olives stuffed with braised meat, then you'll know we're the lucky ones, too. Because Le Virtù is not simply one of the most pleasant new restaurants I've visited this year; it adds yet another layer of authenticity to our already rich and growing Italian scene.

Chef Luciana Spurio may also be the best souvenir anyone's brought back to Philly from a European jaunt in a long time.

The regional obsession here is Abruzzi, the central chunk of Italy's eastern coast that is the ancestral home of many Philadelphians. This is where Cratil reconnected with his "Cretarola" family roots, 90 years removed from grandpa Alfonso's departure to the New World. He found real cousins there, fell in love with the culture, abandoned his editorial job abstracting government statistics, moved there for months on end, and launched a career in Abruzzi tourism. Lee left her administrative post at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, as well.

Le Virtù (named for the traditional Abruzzese May soup "the Virtues") was a byproduct of their travels; the restaurant is a living scrapbook, a repository of dishes, ingredients, artwork and wines that is a delight to explore. Considering that the two had precious little restaurant experience before beginning this project in 2005, not to mention the bureaucratic, construction and visa troubles that delayed its opening for nearly two years, they've put together an impressively polished place.

The L-shaped room, formerly the offices of an Italian community newspaper, has been transformed. It's now a warm and rustic taverna of refined earth tones and evocative photo art, with a lively front bar, wooden country tables, contemporary Italian folk tunes, and a pretty side dining room that looks out onto a splendid warm-weather terrace. It is an inviting anchor for the southern bend of the elbow that begins East Passyunk Avenue's steadily rising restaurant row. The affordable 70-bottle list of regional Italian wines alone is worth a visit.

But it is Spurio, coincidentally East Passyunk's fifth female chef (and the Avenue's most talented cook, period), who should guarantee Le Virtù an audience. Cratil and Lee met her on the Abruzzi coast, where she was cooking at a seafood restaurant. Open to adventure, and with friends already around Philadelphia, she didn't take much convincing.

Spurio, 48, brings a fresh native touch that is still rare around here, and it's steeped in the kitchens of her mother, a culinary instructor, where she soaked in the flavors of her native Marche, and Abruzzi just to the south, where she spent the second half of her childhood.

Techniques like marinating gamy meats in neutralizing white wine, then braising them in tannic red with just the right touch of herbs lend a balanced depth to the ragus that lavish her homemade pastas. Lusty crumbles of lamb contrast with the delicate square-cut strands of spaghetti alla chitarra. Tender morsels of duck and beef tumble between the zipper-edged folds of wide fazzoletti, the parsley-green "handkerchief" pasta. Tender rabbit and amaretto cookies fill flower-shaped ravioli tinted bittersweet brown with cocoa, the rounds shined with sage-infused brown butter.

Like many of the best Italian cooks, Spurio gives the simplest dishes a magnetic luster. Like the terra-cotta crock of chickpeas simmered in saffron-tomato broth sparked with fresh mint. Or the chicken broth enriched with a hunk of beef for scripelle m'busse, the festival soup filled with rolled crepes stuffed with pecorino.

I never loved tripe until I tasted Le Virtù's. It gets poached in cleansing vinegar and bay before it's shaved into frilly-edged noodles and simmered in a bright tomato sauce tanged with parmesan rinds and lots of marjoram. Her spaghetti aglio olio is the single most dynamic simple pasta in the city, the perfectly al dente strands tossed in olive oil ringing with notes of spice - golden-fried garlic, pepper flakes, and fresh green chiles - that warm the tongue with swelling fruity heat.

A handful of dishes were less than they could be. The potato gnocchi were doughy and overly rich. The cauliflower pasta was a notch too salty with anchovy. The elaborate timballo, despite a dozen layers of crepes and tiny meatballs, was one-dimensional. And the fritto misto platter of assorted fried meats - rabbit, veal, lamb - was unexpectedly bland, the most intriguing morsel being a fried "cremini" square of custard.

Ironically, some memorable fried appetizers are part of what distinguishes this menu, from the complimentary fried dough stuffed with mozzarella and sage to the exquisitely addictive breaded olives "all'Ascolana" filled with a slow-braised trio of meats to arancini rice balls filled with ground beef ragu.

The more expensive meat and fish entrees, hovering in the mid-$20s, are less exciting than the starters and pastas, but still offer quality ingredients in straightforward ways. The rosemary-marinated rib eye crusted with bread crumbs would be a hit anywhere, as would the crispy-skinned chicken grilled to herb-infused succulence under a brick. Monkfish alla pizzaiola, scented with oregano and sauteed with capers, cherry tomatoes and olives, was one of the better monkfish dishes I've had.

My biggest disappointment was desserts. The panna cottas and lemon mousse were almost chewy with gelatin. The fudgy chocolate bonet and tiramisu were decent.

But I don't need sweets with a platter of rare organic Abruzzese sheep's-milk cheeses to explore. There were pecorinos aged with wild herbs and preserved in olive oil. Creamy ricottas came crusted in chives and hot peppers, and smoked to an ethereal tang over juniper. They're so rare, in fact, that some of these particular cheeses will not be available on a steady basis.

But that is the beauty of Le Virtù - those elusive regional flavors now at least have a satisfying spot in South Philadelphia to call home.