A great beer list will take you far. If we’ve learned anything in Philadelphia these past several years, it’s this one simple truth. Indeed, a well-poured Allagash or a perfectly paired Hitachino Nest have the potential to atone for all manner of sins. They are, in a way, evidence of some sort of good faith guiding a place through any turbulent waters it may encounter.

And while Devil’s Den doesn’t need to do too much atoning—there are no food sins egregious enough to warrant that beery penitence—it most definitely finds its truest expression of purpose in that Monk’s-style list.

The food, however, just misses its mark, especially considering the thought and effort that the specials—complex, well-thought-out affairs—indicate this kitchen is capable of.

In fact, it seems to be a bit of a trend, this use of special dishes to really show off the chef’s prowess and the restaurant’s ambition. Humble-on-the-surface spots like Peppercorns, under-the-radar gems like Misconduct, and the Den—an inviting, well-lit, beer-o-centric gathering place with a menu focusing on comfort food, special preparations of a finer sort, and a young, laid-back clientele—are all exceding what you might initially expect.

In terms of concept and political implication of those specials, a recent tomato – celery root – smoked paprika soup du jour was flawless. What better way to bridge the gap between the recently vanquished cooler weather and the now-omnipresent summertime heat than with a chunky puree, each component speaking of a different time of the year and, as a result, bookending the one we now find ourselves in with a sort of remembrance of seasons past? And what better way to show some semblance of sanity in the face of our latest national food crisis—what Arthur Conan Doyle might have called, rather biblically, The Case of the Poisoned Fruit or some other such wink-wink title—than by serving non-salmonella-streaked tomatoes?

Unfortunately, that soup, well planned as it was, suffered from less-than-stellar execution. It was so salty that I found myself reaching more frequently for another sip of beer than for my spoon, and the smokiness of the paprika overwhelmed almost every other component.

Wings, which, in the right hands have the potential to really shine when prepared with a sense of creativity and moxie, came up just short. Again, it was all a matter of execution. The ancho chile sauce, which split the difference between sweet, smoky, and spicy well, seemed as if it desperately wanted to be a glaze, to cling to the moist wings and really imbue them with its flavor. It was, however, just a touch too thin for that.

The "traditional" mussels, one of three preparations offered, suffered under the weight of too much thyme and an overdramatic lemony punch. The fries accompanying them, however, were stellar: uniformly crisp, more than the occasional skin left on the stick, and a definite rival to the other great frites accompanying moules around town.

Braised lamb sandwich, however, was a winner, the gently beer-kissed meat moist but not mushy, the onion-sweet roll providing a sense of flavor differentiation and a break from the gorgeous richness of the lamb itself. And while its accompanying salad was a touch overdressed, the vinaigrette itself, balsamic-sweet and just tart enough, worked wonders alongside the sandwich.

It was, however, with dessert that the Den really came into its own, the chocolate layer cake fudgey and not overwhelmingly sweet, the apple tart an edible incarnation of a crisp fall day, it latticework crown crisp and thick, its filling expressing the essence of apple without overselling that flavor. Only the homemade vanilla ice cream fell short; the texture was more akin to cold marzipan than anything else.

There’s potential here, of course. The specials evidence that. But the execution issues have to be addressed. Service does, too: Though pleasant, it tended too far in the direction of the casual and dipped an uncertain toe into the pool of carelessness. Appetizer plates, for example, should always be cleared by the time entrées arrive, and certainly shouldn’t sit there until you’re midway through the main course. And describing the chocolate cake as, "Layers of chocolate in, you know, cake form," doesn’t tell me a whole heck of a lot about what to expect.

But I’m hopeful. Any restaurant that sinks as much thought into the beer list and specials as Devil’s Den surely has the ability to excel. It’s just a matter of putting all the pieces together and executing them in a way that gives full expression to the vision underlying it all. It’ll be interesting to see where this warm, wood-finished den ends up in another couple of months. While we wait, at least, there’s plenty of great beer to tide you over. It won’t suffice forever, but for now, it will have to do.

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