On Walnut Street, between 11th and 12th streets, stands the Forrest Theater, as it has for generations. Across from it is Pompeii restaurant, a sophisticated dining venue. For a while, there was a steady stream of people running back and forth for pre-theater or after-theater dining. But the Forrest Theater has been dark for some time, and I wondered how Pompeii was faring without it.

I needn't have worried, for the other evening business was quite brisk when we edged past the busy bar in the front of the restaurant and settled down at our table. I'm sure that Robert Liccio and executive chef Frank Chiavaroli considered the theater when they moved from the first Pompeii at Broad and Sansom streets to this location in 2003. This spot is more attractive anyway, for they have done the interior in shades of gray and burgundy that are a smooth, sort of Roman backdrop for the replicas of Pompeiian artifacts that dot the room. Not ancient, however, is the iron lattice wine "cellar" that lines one wall. The wine list, slightly limited, is not unreasonable. Wines are listed by the grape variety, and run the gamut from a $28 Valpolicella to $175 Far Niente Cabernet Sauvignon. We found a Caputo Lacryma Christi, a pleasant wine from southern Italy, and turned to the menu.

For an Italian restaurant, the choices seem more Continental than straight Italian. In fact, the party next to us was making a meal on a mixed antipasto, and I can see why. They feature things like grilled petite lamb chops with a red wine reduction, or fried meatballs and roasted sausage, to start the meal. Pompeii is a big-portion-style restaurant, and you must pace yourself accordingly. Start with a bowl of classic white bean and escarole soup, which is thick and homey. Nibble on a large, meaty fresh artichoke dressed with olive oil and a little balsamic vinegar. Try the eggplant parmegiana or the fritto misto of calamari, eggplant and zucchini—these are all excellent, and certainly more than ample for a meal.

Mozzarella spiedini is a favorite dish of mine, and they do it differently here than most places. Their version puts thick slices of mozzarella between slices of toasted bread, skewers them, bakes them and douses them with caper butter. It's a sloppy, endearing dish, and we mopped up every remnant of sauce. A roasted beet salad sweetly cleared our palates for the next onslaught of food, which was one of their specialties—warm flatbread Caesar salad, topped with sauteed shrimp and crabmeat. The chef assured us that it's one of their most popular dishes, but, first off, it is large enough to feed an entire table, and secondly, I think it is just gimmicky.

No Italian meal would be complete without pasta, so we tried two versions. I loved the penne puttanesca—a proper "whore's sauce" with the astringency of capers and olives against the sweet tomato background. The gnocchi, unfortunately, despite the addition of bits of sweet sausage and broccoli rabe, was the consistency of a desiccated marshmallow. It is a tough dish to execute, so we'll forgive him this time. I have a theory, anyway, that all gnocchi are made by Italian grandmothers who are smuggled into restaurants by the back door, where they toil anonymously, their payment being the look of joy on the diners' faces when they first taste the fruit of their labors.

By entree time, we were beginning to flag, but fought on bravely. The atmosphere was convivial, the wine acceptable and the service very solicitous. They have bronzino and tuna; they have osso buco and chicken cacciatore, but their version is made with a boneless chicken breast and Portobello mushrooms. Ah, how today's fear of fat has invaded even the most Italian of restaurants. Consider us guilty of that fear; we ordered a simple paillard of veal, topped with arugula. It was pounded thin, virtuous and just a bit dull (but then all veal, except for their huge chop or the slow roasted shank, is a bit dull). The most pleasant surprise of the evening was that they had langoustine, and we indulged—liberally dousing them with lemon and sucking all the sweet meat out of the shells. It was a splendid dish and done perfectly.

Pompeii's pastry chef, Joe Buzetto, turns out a mean creme brulee, which just may be the most overdone dish extant, but his pineapple upside-down cake with an orange coulis sounded more interesting. It sat a bit too long in the coulis, rendering it soggy, despite the good flavor. Best for me was a concoction of white chocolate and pistachio ice cream that reminded me faintly of spumoni.

So, some of the dishes are strictly Italian, and some are an amalgam of Italian-style and the chef's imagination. Whatever Pompeii is, it is fine place to remember when you don't want to do South Philly, and want to dress up a bit. I'm sure when the Forrest comes back to life, there will be no getting near the restaurant. (In hopes of that day, they feature a sumptuous theater menu for only $25.) There's something old-fashioned and reassuring about Pompeii—like the ruins themselves, it's a reminder of a time and a place where good food and good times ruled the day.

Pompeii

Wheelchair accessible. Smoking permitted in bar area. Reservations suggested. All major credit cards.