Like opening day at Citizens Bank Park or the premiere of the new Lindsay Lohan movie, splashy restaurant openings are virtually guaranteed to disappoint. For even if the hot-spot will one day mature into a worthy destination, there are generally far too many kitchen kinks or service snafus in the first few months to justify all the hype before the first firing of the stovetop burners.

But as we all should have known, Tinto is different, even this early in the game: It's already a full-fledged success, with an interesting, reasonably-priced wine list, a menu that straddles the line between culinary tight-rope walking (chocolate and chorizo! anchovy-wrapped cantaloupe!) and traditional Basque comfort food, and service that's as smooth and as friendly as anywhere in town.

It has been hatched fully formed and ready to justify its hype. And already, barely a month after it first opened its doors, Tinto is one of the most exciting restaurants in town.

It can, of course, occasionally be tricky to get a table. I recently called on a Friday afternoon for a table that evening and had to choose between reservations at 5pm or 9:30pm. Letting my inner grampa shine through, I chose the early-bird special and duly arrived at 5pm, before even the local hipsters, foodies, sour-faced Rittenhouse doyennes and their soul-sucked husbands, desk-jockeys, and de facto members of the ever-growing Jose Garces fan club arrived for their end-of-the-week tipple. But even at that hour, a light snack was transporting.

Surtidos, an assortment of pintxos salados (salted Basque tapas), was a steal at $7. The highlight of the sampler, homemade razor-thin potato chips dusted with chorizo salt and accompanied by a velvety lobster cream, was the ultimate snack food surf-and-turf. Txangurro a la Donostia, or San Sebastián baked crab, put mere crab cakes to shame: Its flavor was so pure, so rich, so expertly buttressed by the tomato-shellfish jus that the waiter poured into the center, that you might need a slug of Basque wine afterward just to bring yourself back down to earth-the postprandial equivalent of the post-coital cigarette, as it were.

And as for the previously mentioned chorizo and chocolate, it was classic Garces: inventive but not showy; based on a few simple, well-chosen components; and utterly delicious. The montaditos de chorizo de Pamplona consisted of a thin slice of brioche that had been grilled on the plancha, a smear of not-terribly-sweet Valrhona chocolate that had been given a bit of heat by the addition of espelette (a traditional Basque-region chile pepper), a hit of orange zest, and a generous slab of plancha-grilled chorizo. The smokiness of the chorizo found its perfect counterpart in the darker nuances of the chocolate, and the orange brightened the whole thing up perfectly, like a squirt of lemon juice on a cream sauce.

Like Tinto itself, the dish was rustic yet sexy, wildly inventive yet wholly approachable, and every bit as wonderful as you hoped it would be.

Tinto, 114 S. 20th St., Philadelphia, 215.665.9150, www.tintorestaurant.com