THAT CHEESY Dan Fogelberg song that gets so much airplay this time of year has been batting around in my brain. I think it's because the story line — about old lovers running into each other on Christmas Eve, just happened to me at La Tavola Trattoria in Virginia-Highland. I ran into my high school boyfriend.

There he was, gathering a drink order at the bar. I snuck up behind him and played peek-a-boo. When he turned, his face went blank, then the corners of his mouth turned up into a big smile.

Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
Plump sea scallops with Anson Mills polenta, sauteed spinach and tomato-onion compote illustrate chef Craig RichardsÕ simple yet effective approach to Southern Italian.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
The beet salad comes with shaved fennel, Granny Smith apples, goat cheese and red wine vinaigrette.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
Trout with roasted potatoes.
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I had been in the week before with a friend. It had been a great evening — a girl's night out where we were tucked away at one of this cozy restaurant's comfy tables by the window. Over a plate of plump scallops, spinach and mind-shatteringly good polenta, we talked about guys and work. Sipping super-Tuscans our waitress let us sample, we lauded our children. We lauded life. We nibbled on a beautiful tricolor beet salad stacked with Granny Smith apples and goat cheese and a syrupy, sexy red wine reduction. For dessert, we splurged on a gooey, warm raisin-rum bread pudding with cinnamon ice cream. Our waitress closed the bill out but had no problem opening it again when we decided to have a cappuccino after all.

It was a close-to-perfect evening, made so by the hospitality of our waitress, chef Craig Richards' candid, straightforward approach to Southern Italian food, and the company of a new friend.

But now, here was an old friend. I knew just catching up would change the evening dramatically. At first I was worried he would bring dish after dish to the table — not just because he knew I was a dining critic, but because of our history.

But he didn't. Other than a pretty butternut squash casserole-souffle dish Richards was creating off the menu, the evening was spent reminiscing, not refusing a parade of special plates from the kitchen.

Thank goodness. It left me to ponder the menu for myself: antipasti with salty speck (ham) and prosciutto; a hardy pasta e fagioli loaded with beans and bacon.

Mussels were honored with mild seasonings of parsley, oregano and thyme — little else. The sea and herb flavor was enough and lingered in the broth for dipping bits of bread.

Leek risotto tasted more of mushrooms than leeks, but it was scrumptious nonetheless. And a beef shoulder was braised until the meat fell to pieces, tender and seasoned with red wine and a mild piney flavor I couldn't quite discern.

"Juniper berry," my old friend said with a wink and schmoozy Southern accent.

"Aha," I thought, nibbling on a bite of braised fennel that came alongside a fillet of seared Georgia trout.

Richards is a newbie to Fifth Group, which includes Sala, Food Studio, South City Kitchen and La Tavola. He came from Lidia's in Pittsburgh, part of the growing dynasty of restaurants from Lidia Bastianich, the grand dame of Italian cuisine in the U.S.

His approach to the simple peasant's style of Southern Italian cuisine is, well — simple. He gives each dish a refreshing attitude but knows enough to leave flavors, combinations and cooking styles that have been in place for hundreds of years — sautéed greens, braised meats and vegetables.

The only area of the menu where this effort falls flat is dessert.

It's hard for American restaurants to remain true to Italian form while keeping the penchant for all things molten and chocolate that reigns this side of the Atlantic. While the tiramisu tries hard to seem like the spoon dish from Treviso, in the end the layers of lady fingers and mascarpone are as Americanized here as they are everywhere else.

That's why something like the bread pudding makes such a winning showing — it's not presented as an Italian dessert, just something ooey-gooey to eat, warm with ice cream and caramel sauce.

Through the evening we sip Sartori Amarone Valpolicella and sing out loud to Nat King Cole's rumbling voice:

"Non dimenticar means don't forget you are my darling." We talk about old times. Old friends. New friends. Life. Love. Children.

And we don't forget.