Expensive Savona delivers one of the region's best fine-dining experiences

A curved driveway sweeps us up, around and away, depositing our car at the glassed-in entrance. The bones of this fieldstone building erected in 1765, the former home of Aaron Burr, are historic Pennsylvania.

But the atmosphere inside is pure South of France, from the terra-cotta-colored walls and tiled floors to the lilting French accents of the staff, many of whom greet you as you head into the dining room for an evening of splendid Riviera-inspired seafood.

Which side of the Riviera, though, has puzzled me.

Savona — whose owner, Evan Lambert, recently bought out partner Andrew Feinstein — has always posed itself as the "spirit of the Italian Riviera." The name itself pays homage to an Italian port. But chef Dominique Filoni is a native of St. Tropez. And despite the affinities between the two countries, especially on the Mediterranean coast, Filoni's food is unabashedly French, from the pistou soup to the chocolate bombe.

This may cause confusion if you're looking for pasta, since there are only two on the menu. But Savona does so many other things right that it can be forgiven its geographic fudging. Few restaurants, in the suburbs or city, offer such a polished fine-dining experience.

The dining rooms are gorgeous, with luxury linens, heavy silver, and some of the sleekest white Bernardaud plates around. The highly trained staff moves seamlessly around the table, whether delivering tiny crocks of cold and sweet pea froth for the evening's amuse-bouche, spooning sauce from little copper pots, or guiding diners through the excellent 1,000-bottle wine list. Don't skimp here. It's worth ordering just to watch the sommelier decant your bottle over a candle flame into a fine glass carafe shaped like a top.

Filoni's food is worth the pomp, building on the pure flavors of high-quality ingredients with inventive touches that capture the Mediterranean spirit. The lobster salad is a crimson-colored tail curling over a bloom of baby spinach, the tender meat shined with pistachio oil and topped with a dollop of avocado mousse. Two plump zucchini blossoms, still clinging to their slender green squash, are stuffed with a mince of lobster and foie gras scented with Pernod.

The Riviera salad gives the traditional Nicoise new elegance, its bramble of frisee crisscrossed with fresh anchovies, crumbles of oil-poached tuna, baby artichokes, and scampi tails sweet as seafood candy. A composition of ruby-rare tuna is slicked with truffled oil, an intriguing bass note that didn't overwhelm the pristine fish.

Some luxury ingredients weren't always used to best advantage. The lobster risotto was too rich and sticky, and the herb-crusted lobster tail, seasoned oddly with dill, had turned an unappetizing black.

The agnolotti were another seemingly sure-fire indulgence that didn't quite work. Stuffed with molten foie gras, the large dumplings were too heavy and awkward to be eaten from a bowl of broth. The seared foie gras appetizer had a wonderful basil-peach compote but was overcooked.

But far more often than not, the kitchen's dishes were perfect. Many of the best celebrated the simple vibrance of fresh produce. The pistou soup's ham broth was emerald green with basil and brimming with zucchini, potatoes, beans, tomatoes and swirls of vermicelli. Braised baby artichokes barigoule were served with flair as the waiter spooned a delicious wine broth over an arrangement of tiny vegetables covered with two pasta diamonds, one tinted with cocoa, the other with chestnut flour.

Pasta seldom appears at Savona, and usually more for flourish than for substance, as the Italians would have it. The sole exception is the tagliatelle, whose ribbons make the perfect nest for crisp maitake mushrooms, bitter broccoli rabe, and sweet scampi tails.

Speaking of sole, I doubt anyplace else does a better rendition of the Dover fish than Savona, where it is boned tableside and spooned onto the plate with buttery artichokes, peas, and, if you're lucky, snappy green coils of fiddlehead ferns.

Then again, all of Savona's fish were top-notch during my visits. Meaty white fillets of John Dory came perfectly grilled alongside a coarse puree of zucchini and olive. Pan-seared branzino paired nicely with the sweetness of braised endive and fennel and an unusual pistachio puree. Browned scallops were poised over sweet white asparagus, tender fava beans, and bits of prosciutto. And Ligurian ciuppin, similar to bouillabaisse, was as delicate as any seafood stew I've tasted.

But after savoring medallions of succulent porcini-crusted lamb loin, set with whole morels around a pillow of truffled mashed potatoes, I can't help wondering why Filoni doesn't cook more meat.

There are fewer desserts than I might have expected, but perhaps Savona wants to show off its new cheese cart, an exquisite Christofle chariot topped with a glass dome that disappears when it rolls open, releasing the fragrance of pungent Reblochon, Saint-Nectaire and raw-milk Camembert.

Still, it's worth saving room for the baked apple stuffed with nuts and dried fruit, or the funky white-chocolate bombe, whose ivory shell conceals mousses of milk chocolate and crunchy espresso.

But how could I pass up the sublime chocolate souffle, where the forces of darkness and light unite in a floating column of airy cocoa? A server cracks its surface and pours creme anglaise into its heart, and the souffle sighs upward before settling in.

Blissfully, I can only do the same.

Craig LaBan's e-mail address is claban@phillynews.com.