This world-class kitchen is often mislabeled as “northern Italian.” Although the virtuoso chef is from Friuli, Italy’s northeast, the restaurant is not. Buffalo-milk burrata, for instance—a profound, cream-spiked version of mozzarella, paired with exceptionally ripe tomatoes—derives from Puglia, in Italy’s deep south. Campania, another southern Italian region, is where you’d see the most wood-fired brick ovens of the sort that Da Marco uses for its traditional margherita pizza, whose balance of ripe, reduced tomato flavor with sharp, brick-seared ash approaches perfection.

To traverse Da Marco’s menu is to span much of Italy. An old Jewish recipe from Rome is the basis for a delicately fried artichoke alla giudea, dressed in olive oil with mint, lemon, and a touch of orange; the citrus is almost too acidic here, but not quite. And you might find a whole roasted branzino—a sweet, firm white fish—absolutely anywhere along Italy’s extensive coastline. The treatment of the branzino is just as deferential as it should be: that same wood-burning pizza oven sears and burnishes its skin, locking the moisture within. The whole fish is later deboned at the table to produce sweet meat that sings with flavor and delicacy. This is the best fish dish in the city.

A dazzling plate of prosciutto San Daniele sets the salt and softness of rosy, paper-thin cured ham against the sugar and crispness of wood-oven-seared slices of flatbread stuffed with fig jam, which play with the palate like the Fig Newtons of your dreams. A big, open-faced raviolo of homemade pasta mixes ricotta, egg yolk, and truffle to take you somewhere else, far away from Houston or even Italy. This earthly union—of wheat, fruit of the fields; cheese, aged nourishment from the breast; truffle, sniffed out by pigs from deep within the earth; and egg, the symbol of rebirth—turns into an elemental, almost pagan experience.

And then there is the panna cotta, whose judicious mix of gelatin imparts the cooked cream with what Gordon Ramsay once called a “sexy wobble.” In an inspirational touch, it’s balanced by a pool of saba, a syrupy cooked grape must that’s similar to aged balsamic vinegar.

Da Marco’s atmosphere is nothing special; like the kitchen, it’s authentically Italian, with well-dressed, but not overdressed, tables; cozy, low ceilings; an airy porch-style room. Prices remain relatively fair for the quality, and the $22 three-course business lunch is a gift to the city. In spite of service that has suffered since our first edition—it’s now hurried and brusque, as if tables are being turned too fast—Da Marco remains the best restaurant in Houston.

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