Confession is good for the soul, or so they say. So I will share that when the first dishes arrived at Mangia, I emitted a quiet sigh of relief. After visiting so many Italian-American restaurants, the dominant strain of the area's "ethnic" eateries, I have developed red sauce fatigue. I've learned to expect average food in an average setting, made by a staff putting in an average effort. My operating theory is that we love dishes like spaghetti and meatballs as much as the principals in "Lady and the Tramp."

Places don't have to excel to remain in business, as long as they put in the hours, limit mistakes and stick to the script. So when beans and greens showed up gutsy with garlic and rich with good olive oil and pecorino romano cheese, a sautéed vegetable dish with beans instead of a soup, it promised to be a meal to remember, instead of a night to forget.