By the year 2017, nearly 2 million Philadelphians will choose carpaccio over cheesesteak. At least, that's what could happen if new Italian restaurants continue to open around the city at the current rate. Some might call it an embarrassment of ricchezze.

There's nothing wrong with most of these places, and each has a crew of supporters explaining why it has the best, most authentic (fill in the blank). The problem with this constant influx of new Italian food is our standards have become higher, while the quality and character of the restaurants is similar. Take Gioia Mia, the trattoria that opened last summer in Center City. In a different time, in a different place, it would be an appealing place to have a better-than-average Italian meal. But now that there are similar eateries on practically every block, including Porcini across the street, it's just not a standout.

For one thing, Gioia Mia doesn't look very special. The Sansom Street space that used to house the chicly stark Cibucan has been dressed up and toned down—it's tasteful, yes, but plain. A bar in front has a few stools for waiting patrons, but the majority of the room is devoted to dining with an almost ascetic seriousness. The cream-colored walls are embellished with a few framed pictures, copper pots and red beaded candle sconces. The only hint of whimsy in this restaurant named "My Joy" is a peeing naked boy fountain overlooking the street, an image of which is featured on the restaurant's logo.

If only that little guy had more of a presence here—a creative consulting role, say, in the menu. While there are some unusual-for-Philly selections like Lazio-style abbacchio (baby lamb) and baby pork, or the carpaccio, which is here made from bronzino, the majority of offerings are pretty standard chicken, veal and pasta dishes.

There's no question chef Fabrizio Pace, formerly the executive chef at La Veranda, has talent. His light, unpretentious touch makes heartier items go down easy. There's an earthy pleasure in the generously portioned Salcisse con Broccoli Rabe, fennel-spiked sausage grilled to full-capacity plumpness over a pile of oil-slick greens. Tortine di Granchio con Funghi pairs a dense crabcake with dense grilled wedges of portobello; the seafood is surprisingly enhanced by the meaty mushroom. Even a simple arugula salad is smartly livened up with slivers of sun-dried tomato, gauzy shavings of Parmesan and the bright spark of lemon juice.

Sometimes, though, the understatement underserves the cooking, as in the Brodetto Marchigiano, or peasant-style Marchese fish stew, an appetizer built for two. A giant bowl brims with shrimp, New Zealand cockles, mussels and calamari, plus a few enormous slices of crostini soaking it all in. The shellfish is tender and sweet, but the broth is begging for greater intensity: garlic, saffron, anything. The same goes for a too-modest risotto with spinach and bel paese cheese, whose texture—at once creamy and al dente—is near to perfect. A slightly stronger flavor could bring it home.

Pastas, served as a first course or an entree in the same enormous portion, are mostly unremarkable. Cylindrically shaped potato gnocchi, available in either a gorgonzola or fresh pomodoro sauce, are sinkers, soft and gummy. Teabag-size packets of lobster ravioli are bathed in a pink tomato cognac cream sauce with shrimp; both are mild to the point of blandness.

The secondi platti arrive waving sprigs of herbs like flags. The fish are among the most interesting choices. Fillets of striped bass and orata are given near-meat treatment. The striped bass is lightly floured and herbed while the Sardinian orata is embedded in a more substantially flavored pecorino cheese crust, baked and sprinkled with a confetti of chopped fresh tomato. Both come with crisp browned potatoes and sadly limp string beans. Meanwhile, the Porchetta alla Romana, baby pork seasoned with rosemary and fennel, rolled and roasted, is too salty to be truly succulent.

Desserts are, on the whole, more innovative. There's a homemade profiterole and an anise-scented semifreddo. The tiramisu, though, is traditional, served in a glass with a texture that is more custardy than ladyfinger sponge-cakey. The Bachetta alla Banana is a tart that is assembled fresh in the kitchen. Its crust is dry and flavorless, though slices of fresh banana and a chocolate mint filling are sweetly satisfying on their own. Then there is a complimentary after-dinner drink to enjoy, should you choose to partake of it. It's an especially gracious touch, and the service throughout, it should be noted, is both jovial and prompt.

Gioia Mia is drawing decent crowds and it will undoubtedly have its own base of loyal fans. At the moment, though, I'm still not convinced I would choose it over another, similar place.

Gioia Mia

Credit cards accepted. Smoking permitted upstairs. Wheelchair accessible. Reservations recommended.