The brainchild of former Alma de Cuba and El Vez chef Jose Garces, Amada has been one of the most highly anticipated restaurant openings of the year. If you've read anything about it, you'll know that it was meant to make all-too-rare Spanish cuisine available to Philadelphia diners, that it was going to combine traditional dishes with innovative techniques, that it would evoke European sophistication with a uniquely Mediterranean casual vibe. It succeeds on all counts.

The basic structure of the Chestnut Street restaurant, once home to Adriatica, has not changed significantly. On one side of the entrance is a handsome bar with a few small tables for casual nibbling. Trussed sides of meat hang above a charcuterie machine that churns out delicate sheets of chorizo, salchichons (pepper-cured sausage), lomo embuchado (smoky, dry-cured pork loin) and Serrano ham. Built-in cabinetry and shelves store white plates, wooden barrels and canned goods, while two large glass jars swimming with fruit display homemade white and red sangrias. (There's also a nice list of Spanish and South American wines.)

On the other side is the proper dining area. Two rustic wooden tables with benches overlook Chestnut Street through oversized windows. A larger table is sectioned off by VIP-looking drapery from the wall of red banquettes. The room glows with tabletop lanterns and gleaming hardwood floors. It's an appealing atmosphere, and if the Spanish props are a little over the top, we have to remember that, after all, this is Old City.

In some ways Amada is very much a part of that clubby milieu: There's the obligatory exotic house cocktails, the loud electronic music, the infinite stretch of bathroom mirror built for hair-fluffing and double-date gossip. Yet there is no mistaking the seriousness of the service, which is impeccable, or the food itself, which is nothing short of divine.

Garces is obviously a perfectionist. Before you taste anything you will be enchanted by its presentation: A wedge of tortilla española layered with potatoes comes with a tiny mortar and pestle of saffron aioli. Garrotxa, a semi-hard goat's milk cheese with a silvery rind, is arranged in slices around a ceramic jar of garlic dulce de leche. Even the ensalada rusa, a picnic-y, mayonnaise-based salad of potatoes and tuna, is decorated with beautiful pink flakes of fish.

It's a relief to be able to order with confidence, knowing that every selection will be a seamless fusion of flavor and texture, like the Spanish flatbread layered with thin slices of duck breast, a swirl of softened cabrales and a dollop of fig jam. The light and crispy shells of fried croquettes break open to feathery salt cod puree; stuffed peppers are bright bundles of tender crabmeat.

Alongside these finger food snacks, there are also mini knife-and-fork entrees that can be thrown into the tapas mix: grilled meats and seafood of all kinds, foie gras, vegetable dishes like grilled green onions with a romesco dipping sauce, and a slab of sea bass and clams in salsa verde, a thick sauce of parsley and white wine.

There are two types of paella, each built for two and served in the traditional cast-iron pan. After a forkful of the Valenciana, any paella that came before it will quickly seem like a pitiful imitation. The saffron and paprika-spiked rice is strewn with just-charred but juicy chunks of chorizo, ribbons of roasted red pepper, salty bites of olive and tender slices of chicken breast. A perfect crust of crispy rice or socorat accumulates on the bottom of the pan, while on top, a sprinkling of fresh greens and tomatoes adds yet another layer of texture.

Were it not for the intriguing Garrotxa and garlic dulce de leche you could skip the tapas-style cheese altogether and save up for the dessert cheese plate—many of the same items are represented here in smaller form, each paired with an outstanding condiment. There's Ronçal, aged sheep's milk cheese, with Seville orange marmalade; queso de cabra, a fresh, soft goat cheese, with tart balsamic strawberries; and pungent Monte Enebro, a semi-soft goat's milk cheese, with homemade chocolate and hazelnut puree—which on a spoon could be dessert alone.

There's a rich white cheesecake the size of a goat cheese button, arrayed with spiced, wine-braised pears. There's a crème catalan and a trio of chocolate desserts, but the most stunning finish is the chocolate and caramelized banana cake with a vanilla saffron custard. The crispy topmost layer of banana is crowned with a lacy sugar foam. It's a nod to Spain's most famous living chef, Ferrán Adriá, but perhaps it's also a knowing wink: Philly finally has its own Spanish food worth bragging about.

Amada

Reservations recommended. Credit cards accepted.