Some of Sette Bello's best moments come at the antipasto bar, where you'll find raw fish perched atop spoons...Photograph by Allison Dinner

You won't see anyone dancing on the tables at Sette Bello. That kind of abandon might fly at Sette's sister restaurant, Cafe Milano, the Georgetown haunt of power brokers, celebs, and jet-setting Euros. But the two-career couples, young families, and well-coiffed ladies who lunch who've made this sprawling modern space in Clarendon their own would not be amused.

Known for his Midas touch in the restaurant world, Franco Nuschese is a detail guy who prizes market studies as much as farmers markets. He's positioned Sette Bello--the third restaurant in his growing empire--to cater to nearly every craving of the moment. There are salads for the carb-conscious, cocktails for the bright young things at the bar, a smart Italian wine list with good by-the-glass picks for oenophiles, and crudo--Italy's answer to sushi--for thrill-seeking foodies.

This last is a departure for Nuschese. It's also where some of Sette Bello's most enticing morsels are found. Tiffany Lee, formerly Todd Gray's assistant at Equinox and an alumna of New York's Le Bernardin, oversees the small, chic crudo bar where dishes are assembled sushi-style.

Tidbits come three or four to a plate, with usually one or two standouts. A shot glass of diced, tequila-and-grapefruit-cured salmon perks up an otherwise middling trio of salmon; an exquisite rectangle of tuna lubricated with ponzu sauce does the same for the fish sampler, Quattro Cucchiai.

There are antipasti, too. A layered cylinder of seasonal vegetables with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and crumbles of air-dried ricotta is so good you forget it's good for you. Same goes for bruschetta with shaved raw baby artichokes, earthy and crunchy. Not everything pleases. I'm usually an easy mark for anything having to do with mortadella, but the mortadella pâté on a round of bruschetta was so grainy that no one at the table even considered another bite.

The rest of the menu is more familiar. There are salads, pizzas, and the sort of simple, stylish Italian plates--think rockfish with fennel--Nuschese's customers have come to expect.

House-made pastas, the mainstay of Milano's menu in the '90s, are in the mix, too, but servers are quick to note you can get half portions. Pushing an oversize bowl of pasta may not be quite the thing in the age of South Beach. Which is a shame, because several taste of Italy, be it the sweet-savory pumpkin-filled half moons; the paccheri (penne the size of a garden hose) with a flavorful meat ragu; and vivid beet-filled cappelli (ravioli-like squares) with the barest slick of tangy Gorgonzola sauce.

...and other bright but cooked baubles, like this tower of grilled vegetables. Photograph by Allison Dinner

The kitchen--chef Domenico Cornacchia is responsible for all three of Nuschese's restaurants and tries to stop in at Sette Bello daily--also turns out a luxuriant risotto Milanese that's just soupy and chewy enough, nutty pearls of arborio scented with saffron.

I love the classic pasta e fagioli, elevated several notches with its meaty borlotti beans (cranberry beans), and the perfectly grilled Dorade, a small whole fish bright with lemon and salty with capers and olives. Beef short ribs deliver a more robust sort of pleasure, all winey and caramelized, the juices trickling over buttery, slightly lumpy mashed potatoes. Treating an expertly grilled rib eye as an oversize bruschetta--it's served on a toasted slice of ciabatta with a peppery salad of tomato and arugula--puts a clever spin on the requisite steak entrée.

Pizzas are the weakest link. Despite thin, crisp crusts, a hallmark of Sette Osteria, Nuschese's Dupont Circle venture, they too often suffer from a deluge of toppings, whether it's a simple cheese pie or the more involved broccoli rabe and sausage.

Service is iffy, too. One night it took forever to order bellinis. Another time we practically had to fling ourselves in the path of the waiter to get the check. At a weekday lunch even the staff wasn't sure who was serving us dessert--though when the warm chocolate cake oozing orange jam did arrive, it was delicious, a gooey, chocolate lover's sweet.

Such snafus only reinforce the feeling of dining in a vast, impersonal space. Where's the character of Cafe Milano or the warmth of Sette Osteria? On a hopping Friday night, the dining room with its concrete floors seems endless. Sunday, when the management hauls out a retractable wall, the place seems cozier.

On my most recent visit, a palm reader had set up camp at a table in the bar. The room crackled the way it might on a good night at Cafe Milano. Turned out she was there for a private party, but Nuschese might consider bringing her on. Who better to amp up the buzz and the TLC.