I've become something of a regular at Sardinia on Purdy Avenue. I keep telling myself I should move on, but like a drunk on a binge, I find myself drawn again and again to the incredible cuisine of the ancient Mediterranean island for which this handsome newcomer is named.

Make no mistake; this is not just another Italian restaurant. Stubborn and enchanting as his homeland, Pietro Vardeu has created an alluring menu of authentic Sardinian food that combines rustic Italian elements with Spanish and North African influences.

Vardeu and his convivial staff offer a delightfully diverse menu with such exotica as roasted quail, braised rabbit, wild boar, guanciale (unsmoked Italian bacon), bottarga (fermented fish roe) and suckling pig with myrtle. The best way to experience the place is with a crowd so you can share and sample many platters.

If you're dining solo, the hearty pastas alone could make a meal. Let the chef choose the tris pasta del giorno, a sampling of three, until you find a favorite. Mine is the thick-gauge spaghetti with baby cockles and thyme. Or maybe the orecchiette with wild boar sausage and broccoli di rabe pesto. Or the homely Sardinian malloreddos (like a cavatelli or small gnocchi) tossed with hunks of baby lamb in a meaty ragu -- oddly under salted, like many dishes here, but one good hit of sea salt and it sings.

The big ravioli in buttery sage sauce are also satisfying, though the thick wrapping overwhelms the delicate filling of goat cheese and spinach. I can also put the lasagnetta at the bottom of my list, if only because it is made with the same carasatu bread I feast on at the start of each meal.

Ah! These crackly, imported flat breads come plain in the bread basket. Spend the extra five bucks for an order of the honey and goat cheese variety, or, even better, the rosemary and sea salt, slick with olive oil -- just one of the many reasons I adore this spot.

Another is the low-key décor with shiny azure blue tile walls, cozy banquettes covered in cocoa-colored leather and a palpable sense of energy.

Now for the down side. The menu is exceedingly difficult to parse. The antipasti, for example, are scrunched together in three columns, giving short shrift to the likes of dynamite asparagus spears topped melted pecorino, caramelized Cipollini onions, olives seasoned with fennel flower, see-through sheets of aged prosciutto, salami, culatello, pecorinos, tallegio and sweet Gorgonzola. Trust the charming waiters to put a plate together for you.

Salads, too, are exquisite, especially the finochiaccia -- crunchy fennel shavings, peppery shards of arugula and slabs of sharp pecorino bejeweled with ruby pomegranate seeds and slivers of sweet orange with an invisible spritz of oil and salt.

Delightful starters include cockles the size of chickpeas served in a kicky broth of heirloom tomatoes, red chiles and lots of fresh basil as well as smeralda, a hot seafood stew (not a salad as the menu says) with hearty cranberry beans.

Main course highlights (many served with fantastic roast vegetables) include sumptuous branzino baked in a salt crust and expertly deboned tableside as well as galletto, a crisp and juicy free-range chicken grilled in the cavernous wood-burning oven.

More challenging dishes like the bottarga -- like fish-flavored gummy bears that stick to your teeth -- are sometimes available. The roasted pig was droopy-skinned and dry one night, but on another it rivaled the best, crackly-skinned Cuban lechon.

The staff is eager to make you feel well cared for. They are sure to make recommendations from the lengthy, value-priced wine list, where revelations like the earthy, pinot grigio-like Vementino di Sardinia Cala Solais ($32) and the bold Terre Brune carignano ($90) abound.

Gelati (try the nocciola) drizzled with fresh cream sauce and heaped with berries is a worthy finish, but I adore the flaky sebadas, like a beignet stuffed with sweet pecorino cheese and citrus zest and drizzled with a flowery Sardinian honey. The Nutella version is equally addictive.

Just like this restaurant.