The rich gelato at Locanda comes from Georgetown's Dolcezza.

The octopus landed on the floor with a plop, a casualty of my daughter’s attempts to play naturalist. Within minutes, another smoky, charred specimen arrived. No need to ask—Locanda owner Aykan Demiroglu had seen it all and gone about setting things right.

Demiroglu is a nightly fixture in his convivial Capitol Hill restaurant, talking up favorite dishes, weighing in on wine picks from the well-conceived list that offers 30 by-the-glass choices, and smoothing rough edges. In this era of restaurant groups, his hands-on approach is reassuring. And though there’s still the occasional lag during the evening crush, Demiroglu’s presence helps nip discontent in the bud.

There’s much to like in this minimalist, gallerylike room with molded orange chairs and bold abstract art. Chef Brian Barszcz, whose résumé includes stints at Tallula and Obelisk, makes forays into Spain and France on his small menu—which changes seasonally—nudging Locanda from Modern Italian to something more interesting.

Crostini with a slather of piquant romesco sauce and shaved Manchego cheese cross the Italo-Spanish divide handily. Another winning hybrid: spicy rings of fried calamari with twin dips of bright-green salsa verde and pimentón aïoli instead of marinara.

Salumi and cheese boards have become a staple of Mediterranean dining rooms, and the razor-thin sliced meats and ripe cheeses here are far better than what you’ll find at most. The kitchen also plays it straight with the burrata, the Maserati of mozzarellas, oozing creamy softness. It’s drizzled with peppery Laudemio olive oil and accompanied by thin slices of prosciutto di Parma. And then there’s the grilled octopus, all char marks and smoky tenderness with its tart tangle of celery, olives, and chorizo.

Pastas are served in restrained portions, the way they would be in Italy as a first course; if you have a modest appetite, they work as an entrée. Earthy porcini gnocchi and delicate ravioli are made by 71-year-old Liliana Dumas, a Genoa native who owned the now-closed Liliana’s in Northwest DC.

Other dishes call for artisanal dried pasta. Short tubes known as maltagliati have the right chewy heft for robust duck ragu, while flat scialatielli, a spaghettilike pasta popular in Rome, marries well with a slightly peppery toss of roasted cauliflower and Swiss chard.

Less successful is the frutti di mare with its rubbery pasta rings—a shame because the seafood is nicely done and the anchovy-spiked salsa verde wonderfully vibrant.

Barszcz’s embellishments and sauces are often distinctive. Pork belly is buoyed by buttery Puy lentils shot through with mustard and thyme. A pimento rub adds a piquant note to grilled rib eye, and potato-parsnip gratin counters with rich creaminess. Maybe the best of the big plates is the well-charred whole branzino accented by a citrusy “salad” of shaved fennel and micro-parsley.

Liliana Dumas’s handiwork makes a return appearance for dessert in lush but light spiced-orange panna cotta, a not-too-sweet chocolate-hazlenut cake, and vivid chocolate-orange semifreddo. She also makes the very Italian-tasting biscotti and almond cookies that arrive with pistachio gelato from Dolcezza in Georgetown; the cookie recipes were passed down from her grandmother.

Even if you skip the gelato, a little plate of biscotti is yours at the finish. And if you happen to drop one, Aykan Demiroglu likely will be there with another.