Girasole

If only every new restaurant were lucky enough to have a booster like the Mimosa Club, there would be no empty dining rooms on a midweek night.

It might have been nice, however, if someone on the phone at Girasole had mentioned that the club's event had been planned for the same night as our reservation.

Don't get me wrong. I admire a group of devoted regulars like this - about 40 doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and politicians who've pooled dues into an eating fund for regular banquets here - determined to keep this favorite restaurant alive. Their allegiances began at Franco and Angela Iovino's previous spot, an off-the-grid BYOB called Mimosa, and have migrated faithfully to their resuscitated new Girasole in Symphony House.

The new place - separated by many years now from the orchestra-crowd glory days when the first Girasole on Locust Street regularly fed Riccardo Muti and Luciano Pavarotti late-night tagliatelle and porchetta – could certainly use the business.

But even so, there's only so much room inside this glitzy gold box of a space, and it made for a potentially awkward arrangement: our quiet little foursome in one empty front corner beside the bar, while a vast square of tables placed side-by-side anchored the heart of the dining room with a rollicking Neapolitan-style feast.

With all the pressed suits, pearls, and perfume dominating the room, it felt like we were crashing someone's silver-anniversary party. But those Mimosas were, in fact, a jolly group, and I'm grateful to them for sharing. Because when some of their off-the-menu delights arrived at our table as a sample - fork-tender rolls of garlicky beef braciole and homemade meatballs in gravy over pristinely plain polenta - I was reminded of the real kitchen soul that makes this edition of Girasole still worth their efforts.

It isn't an obvious cause. This oddly situated space west of Broad looks like a gaudy casino bauble; its golden cord curtains, tufted gold Versace banquettes, and shimmering gold tiles are simply out of place in this world of recession rustic. But this kitchen's heart still beats to the genuine Neapolitan touch of the Iovino women, with Angela running the line alongside her sisters-in-law, Rosaria and Maria, while her daughter, Michele, orchestrates the dining room with little sister, Pina, and brother, Salvatore, lending a hand.

To be sure, there are plenty of refinements here typical of a classic upscale Italian restaurant, from spot-on carpaccios to whole branzinos baked in a salt crust and luxurious little langostinos with delicate crumb-dusted tails of white meat that are as sweet as sea butter.

The most memorable flavors at Girasole, however, had a genuinely more homey touch. Even the complimentary opening nibbles - one night some delicate fritters of mashed potato, another night a creamy, herb-flecked mound of house-made ricotta - taste like someone's mamma made them.

The pastas, in particular, were splendid. Delicate ribbons of house-made tagliatelle came tossed with shavings of fresh baby artichokes and smoky speck. The bucatini Girasole - essentially an amatriciana - wore the zest of rendered pancetta and a flicker of chile pepper in its fresh tomato sauce. There was an authentic seafood risotto filled with shellfish flavor (though a second try wasn't quite as creamy and fully cooked as the first). My favorite, though, was Girasole's twist on passatelli.

Typically made for soup as soft spaetzle-like noodles with only egg, Parmesan, and bread crumbs, this variation has been firmed up with a little flour into hand-rolled tubes that look like gnocchi twisted into penne. They're still amazingly soft. And paired with crumbles of homemade sausage and earthy chunks of soft porcini, it's an addictive plate of comfort.

There were moments when this food was so homey, I didn't expect to like it. A special soup of "fresh" whole peas, for example, had been cooked for hours until the legumes took on the muted olive color of canned - counterintuitively retro in this era of fresh, green, snap. But with little more than guanciale, onions, and water chiming into surprising harmony for the simple broth, each pea popped on the tongue like a little ball of silk.

Dimming my enthusiasm is the fact that dinner at Girasole can be an expensive proposition. The wine list has plenty of sexy high-end names - Gaja, Giacosa, Jermann - but quality choices on the lower end aren't abundant. Our best choices were the rustic red cannonau from Sardegna, $45, and for more of a splurge, at $62, a raisiny and plush ripasso from Ca de Rocchi.

On the standard menu, meanwhile, expect to pay mid-teens for appetizers, and $26 or more an entree for fish and meat. In general, these were well-prepared, albeit plainly. An excellent prime sirloin came sliced and fanned quite simply over an arugula-Parmesan salad. A whole branzino, expertly filleted by Michele from inside its salt crust, was plump and pristinely moist. A seared tuna steak, meanwhile, was a fine piece of fish, even if the salsa-like jalapeño-tomato-avocado sauce was strangely out of place.

But in general, these big-ticket dishes provided the least interesting moments of my meals. And considering that Girasole offers a three-course prix-fixe for $35 (every night but Saturday) showcasing some of its strengths, that's a smarter approach.

Some of the pastas were among the highlights there, but I also loved the homemade sausages - both the spicy links and thinner cervellata coils studded with provolone - that came over white beans with broccoli rabe. There was also an elegant take on veggie Parmesan, with thin slices of delicately breaded eggplant and zucchini layered with mozzarella and basil-infused tomato sauce, that reminded me of a family supper I once ate at a friend's apartment in Naples.

The bargain menu also offers a starter of classic carpaccio (beef or tuna), which is one of this kitchen's signature moves and favorite themes. On the regular menu, slices of filet mignon come served myriad ways - either cold and raw beneath a classic garnish of arugula and Parmesan cheese, or placed atop a hot plate, where it warms slightly, beneath artichokes, asparagus, and truffle oil.

It was worth veering a la carte, however, for one of the seafood carpaccios, especially the octopus, which had been simmered, cooled, pressed, and shaved into gorgeous rosettes that looked like tiles on the plate. Impressively tender, they had the texture and mildness of turkey breast with a vaguely oceanic aftertaste.

I was much less enthusiastic about the sparingly dressed branzino carpaccio, which wore a nakedly fishy twang. (The marinara-stewed calamari, likewise, were also ripe.) But that sea bass was far more successful in the crudo, where ribbons of bass were wrapped around tiny mozzarella balls with a vivid garnish of olive oil, sweet mustard, and citrus.

As part of a striking raw trio alongside slices of ruby tuna with lime zest and balsamic, and a hiramasa kingfish with blood orange, tomato, and avocado, this dish struck just the modern tone that Michele has been angling for.

And that's understandable, given Girasole's need to draw a younger crowd to bolster the aging core of its clientele. Of course, those Mimosas, some of whom eat here independently once a week, are as devoted as they come. But this new edition of Girasole, despite its glitzy veneer, is cooking some soulful Italian fare that's worthy of a new generation of fans.