Take the Cannoli 

Still, I'll never give up on Italian restaurants, because every once in a while, despite the terrible, the forgettable, and the dangerous ones, I encounter a true gem like Sociale. The place sits on the Laurel Heights stretch of Sacramento Street -- a quaint strip of antique dealers, consignment shops, and tony boutiques -- and is so cute that I wish I could gift-wrap it and give it to my mother for her birthday. Stroll into a secluded courtyard and you'll find brick walkways, dark wood, and a cozy bistro that offers fine wines, friendly service, and clever, often stunningly well-executed Italian fare.

Sociale opened in September, and business is already booming. On the night my friend Alexandra and I visited, the place was packed -- a drawback in that the low ceilings magnified the din to the point where we had to raise our voices to be heard. The restaurant's small dining room, divided by a banquette, leads to an equally tiny wine bar. Black-and-white photos of Italians (I'm guessing) engaged in a variety of happy activities adorn the walls. Service has a pleasantly casual feel. Our waiter, for example, had some trouble remembering which of us had ordered what, but he performed his job so enthusiastically that it seemed like he'd spent years waiting for the moment we strolled in. He claimed to have tried every wine on the 47-bottle, California-Italian list ($20-110, with a heavy emphasis on Italian vintages), and would light up when he approved of a choice we'd made. After we had looked over the menu, he assumed a shortstop's stance and asked, "Any questions I can field?"

We did have one question, but we didn't ask it: Why divide the wine list into esoteric categories, so that if you want a chardonnay you have to look under "subtle but substantial" as well as "round and robust"? It seemed a bit precious, not to mention frustrating. Even so, the list is rich with enticing choices -- barolos, amarones, pinot grigios, proseccos -- and offers 20 wines by the glass. I started with a smooth, robust Dievole Chianti classico, while Alexandra opted for the Nilo Bolognani moscato giallo, a superbly complex sip that exuded a sweet, honeylike aroma but hit the palate with a tart note reminiscent of green apple.

With that, we ordered a ton of food and got down to business. If there's a must among the appetizers, it's the deep-fried olives -- addictive, lightly browned morsels that ooze rich, semimolten mozzarella -- served over a bed of lightly dressed mixed greens. At first I wasn't taken by the honey vinaigrette that came with a salad of shaved fennel, apples, dried cherries, and baby greens. The dressing was a bit sweet on its own, but played wonderfully off roasted walnuts and bits of pungent Gorgonzola. The irony of our third appetizer was that its main element -- a delectable portobello stuffed with chard and sweet Italian sausage -- was outdone by a side of chunky, slightly spicy tomato sauce. The flavors of the sauce balanced so impeccably that they resonated for hours after the last bite.

Pastas include both simple options (capellini with tomatoes and basil, spaghetti with pesto and vegetables) and complex creations like farfalle with seared duck breast. In the latter, al dente bow tie pasta combined with a piquant lemon cream sauce, radicchio, sweet peas, and smoky, crispy, juicy slices of duck to yield a dish of sharp contrasts in which no two bites tasted the same. Risotto is one of the few Italian dishes that, in my experience, is best made at home. Given its 20-plus-minute cooking time, restaurants rarely prepare it from scratch, and all too often you get a sticky glorified pilaf, as opposed to a creamy whole with each grain of rice remaining firm and distinct. Sociale's saffron version, on the other hand, was almost too creamy, but I'd take too creamy over too dry any day. It was a fine meal, accompanied by roasted leeks, crunchy asparagus, baby heirloom tomatoes, and a half-dozen succulent prawns.

The only dish that didn't work was an entree of pork loin, which, though quite tasty on its own, came served with an overly acidic pomegranate-balsamic reduction and a mound of butternut squash purée that lacked any trace of spice, leaving it tasting a bit like baby food. The brick-roasted chicken, however, deserves a try: A boneless, flavorful half bird is topped with diced tomatoes and a pinch of grated cheese, then served over mashed potatoes tinged with truffle oil and a lip-smacking side of sautéed baby chard.

Be sure to save room for dessert, too. If you're in a hurry, try the cannoli -- house-made pastry shells filled with a thick, rich cream laced with nuts and candied citron, and served with shaved chocolate. Made-to-order Sicilian sfingi take a bit longer, but the wait is worth it: Deep-fried dough balls rolled in roasted almonds and honey come with a sultry vanilla gelato shake. If you really want to go the whole nine yards, have a dessert wine. My choice, the Baroncini vin santo, was a dry, satisfying splash of grape.

Alexandra's drink -- the Vinum late-harvest Gewürztraminer -- was apparently one of our waiter's favorites (after she ordered it, he looked so stoked that he nearly slapped her a high-five).

"It's like drinking five fruits at once," he promised. This was an understatement: It's more like drinking eight fruits -- peach, apricot, pear, apple, nectarine, plum, grapefruit, and a touch of kumquat -- underscored by a subtle, shimmering hint of spice. With the first taste, Alexandra declared that the only thing better than sipping a late-harvest Gewürztraminer is sipping a late-harvest Gewürztraminer in your living room during an autumn hot spell while eating leftover Halloween candy. Perhaps she's right (I've never tried it), but with autumn a ways off, I'd say your best bet in the meantime is to sip a late-harvest Gewürztraminer at a wonderful little restaurant like Sociale.