Charmed, one of my dining companions - an emigre several years ago from west to east of Broad - was moved to remark on his good fortune. Within walking distance of his door, once a dining desert (save for a few red-gravy houses), he now could reach a table at Supper, James, Chick's, Tria, Sabrina's, Vintage or Mercato, to name a few. Indeed, yet another choice, though somewhat tequila-centric, had recently opened directly across 10th Street from Kanella, a bar-sidewalk cafe called Azul Cantina, also under a long blue, parallel awning.

His point was only partly that geography, blessedly, was no longer dining destiny. It was that what he'd assumed would be, at Kanella, a same-ol' Greek equivalent of a red-gravy house (stuffed grape leaves, saganaki and souvlaki) had turned out to be a whole other kettle of fish - a nuanced and careful kitchen disguised as a simple neighborhood restaurant.

Kanella (Greek for cinnamon) is the project of Konstantinos Pitsillides, a native of Cyprus, an island in the Mediterranean with strong ties to Greece, which inspires his cookery. In fact, he fancies himself a guardian of a tradition he sees fading, or abused: "I'm on a mission," he says. "Keep it simple, use the whole animal, bring back authenticity."

He has the aspect of a Euro soccer player: tightly coiled, his head shaven, his eyes piercing gray-blue. Much of the last decade he cooked in London, in Michelin-starred establishments. Later there was a well-regarded, seven-month tenure at Meze, the now-shuttered Italian Market Mediterranean spot, which he is quick to point out he did not own. (He owns Kanella and is the top chef, although an Israeli sous chef "with a wonderful palate" who worked with him at Meze is on board.)

The whole dorado on this particular evening is cooked simply - seasoned with thyme and rosemary, stuffed with lemon slices, wrapped in grape leaves, grilled briefly and oven roasted. I'd recently had pleasant white snapper at Estia, the pricey Greek seafoodery, and a credible piece of grilled Norwegian salmon at Maia, the dining behemoth in Villanova. For pure flavor and texture, the dorado was my favorite.

Kanella isn't particularly seafood-oriented, though it does offer fine grilled sardines. Rabbit shows up with artichoke salad and later (with different cuts) in a stew. There are sublime Greek-style meatballs called keftedes, aired out with shredded potato and onion, and seasoned with a dash of cinnamon. (Pitsillides' love affair with cinnamon - which he uses with restraint - continues in the ice creams and flan, glazed in the French style with apricot jam.)

Pitsillides was schooled in classic French technique. That training is evident in the red-wine deglazing of the rabbit stew, and in the sourcing (of his lamb and other meats, for instance) from D'Artagnan, the specialty foods purveyor. But his seasoning is unmistakably Mediterranean.

It informs the extraordinary dips at lunch (including a classic Greek garlic-potato skordalia), the house-baked Armenian flatbread topped with spiced lamb, mint and pine nuts, and tender chicken kabobs - each one luring you to the next until you stagger out beyond the blue awning into the punishing sun east of Broad.

Kanella

10th and Spruce Streets

215-922-1773

854-2715 or rnichols@phillynews.com.