Dear Daphni hits copy-and-paste on the Mediterranean kebab house template

Dear Daphni, wherever you are, can you please turn off the alarm?

“There’s no reason for concern,” a manager told us as strobe lights pulsed through the dining room accompanied by a piercing chirp — whoop! whoop! “The building manager has assured us it’s a false alarm.”

The new building’s fire alarm had already gone off once since we were seated at this bustling three-month-old Mediterranean hot spot near Rittenhouse Square. It was not within the restaurant’s control, nor its fault. But I didn’t relish the idea of getting up from the cushy green banquette where we’d started to nibble the mezze platter that comes with every meal. I took a sip of an over-sweetened daiquiri, swiped a warm pita through the dips — standard hummus, crunchy cukes in yogurt, vivid pink beet puree — and finally landed on something intriguing, a whipped feta enriched with pistachios and mint, when the strobes flashed again.

Dear Daphni, new construction can be overrated. Of course, since you’re the Greek goddess whose transformation into a laurel tree inspired the name of this stylish restaurant inside the Laurel, Philly’s tallest luxury residential tower, I’m sure you may have heard this from your pal Almyra, the Greek goddess of the sea breeze, for whom yet another kebab and mezze restaurant was named last year in a new hotel built on the other side of Rittenhouse Square. (Almyra is a gorgeous, Instagram-friendly space all dressed up in limestone, giant urns, and fake bougainvillea vines. The flashy ambiance was no guarantee of a satisfying meal from the modern Greek kitchen, however.)

The menu at Dear Daphni replicates the dip-and-skewer formula that should be familiar to anyone who’s eaten at Almyra or Laser Wolf, the Israeli shipudiya in Kensington from CookNSolo that remains the local gold standard in the genre. Add in the multi-floored “néos-Mediterranean” club ambiance of Teddy Sourias’ recently opened Mona on Chestnut Street, where frequent birthday blasts of Roman candles and flaming saganaki pans blaze beneath live olive trees, and you have a crowded scene.

The latest offering from the Schulson Collective, Dear Daphni does not bring much originality to the field. Not that this is inherently a problem: Founder Michael Schulson’s forté has long been to combine tried-and-true concepts with polished, high-style spaces, often in under-valued, off-center locations transformed into see-and-be-seen hubs — with a special fondness for Sansom Street, on which he owns six restaurants.

The formula has produced a trio of basement hits (Harp & Crown, Giuseppe & Sons, Double Knot), a well-regarded steakhouse in Alpen Rose, and a haven for fresh pastas at Via Locusta in a once-fallow Locust Street space tucked down the block behind Parc. On that level, the group has harnessed its magic touch for popular appeal once again, drawing glam crowds to the southeast corner of 20th and Sansom Streets. The long, narrow ground floor space with a wall of windows and tall ceilings, not unlike Almyra, offers a roomy canvas (155 seats) for a dramatic setting. That’s something Philly’s existing roster of smaller, older, more intimate spaces can’t deliver.

My guest, an architect, praised the layout of Dear Daphni as inviting, with an undeniable energy generated from a double-sided banquette that runs the length of the room, extending all the way to the rounded curves of a handsome bar in back. And the marble ellipse tables are a nice touch to accommodate a meal with lots of plates.

Many of the other design details, he said, left something to be desired, including plush furniture better suited for a lounge than for eating; an odd chandelier of library green lampshades dangling over the banquette that were too small and underpowered; the chunky tile work; and a surging noise problem despite the gracious table spacing. He was especially put-off by the main color choice — ”peach,” which he said was a non-committal color that undermined the room’s character with a bland “cruise ship” vibe that lacked a sense of place.

Dear Daphni, why does the staff consistently announce your menu as primarily “Eastern Mediterranean” when so much of it is influenced by North Africa, on the Mediterranean’s western end? (Management, when asked, did not elaborate.) The menu’s most memorable flavors were almost all seasoned with earthy North African harissa, including a tuna tartare with seven spice aioli and za’atar crackers; a cumin-y link of smoked lamb sausage; and a Tunisian lamb shank cooked to tenderness overnight in a 200-degree oven.

Lamb, in general, is the most reliably satisfying protein here because it is inherently flavorful. The Turkish manti dumplings, also filled with lamb, were pinched into delicate squares drizzled with tomato sauce, yogurt, and mint. A nightly special rack of lamb, though a hefty $58, delivered six meaty, nicely seasoned chops cooked to a perfect medium rare.

The Mediterranean genre has garnered such popularity, I suspect, because of its appearance of healthy simplicity, with a grill-centric ethos that puts the spotlight on quality ingredients served with minimalist style. To an operator, it might seem easier compared to sauce-dependent French or Italian cuisines. To do it well is much harder than it looks, however, since there’s little cover for any flaws.

Chef Mehmet Ergin’s knowing touch with salads, seafood, and deeply flavored grilled meats at Pera Turkish Cuisine in Northern Liberties is one our best examples. Cypriot-born Konstantinos Pitsillides, the former Kanella owner currently working as a consulting chef at Armenian-themed Apricot Stone in Northern Liberties, is another expert. (Try his butterflied branzino glazed in the two-tone sauces of chermoula and harissa, or his lamb shank with bulgur wheat pilaf).

Dear Daphni’s food is, by comparison, too often one-dimensional or inelegantly handled. All the kebabs are marinated in the same blend of turmeric, cumin, coriander, garlic, onion, and mint, be it cubed filet mignon or chunks of noticeably overcooked swordfish (for $48). The grilled king prawns were one exceptional win, the head-on crustaceans wearing their spices like a sweet perfume.

The whole branzino was a disappointment, not only because this average-sized 1¼-pounder for $62 was full of bones near its belly despite being butterflied. It was also oversalted and cooked to such a leathery toughness that it was hard to slice through without mangling the whole fish. (Such a problem might have ultimately been solved by retaining the spine, which keeps a fish juicy.)

The fire alarm went off again, the building’s system still glitchy. But it was as if it was on cue to announce the kofta kebab’s arrival from the underworld fires of Hades’ kitchen. The ground lamb was not only rubbery from being overworked, but scorched like a burnt marshmallow on one end. It was accompanied by a side of broccoli that was simultaneously roasted to bitter ash on its florets and raw at the core.

There was also a split head of charred cabbage that appeared to our surprise, since we’d ordered the smoked cauliflower. Braised to natural sweetness in brown butter with Aleppo pepper and garlic, it turned out to be one of the best things we ate. (Unfortunately, on a subsequent visit, when we finally tried the cauliflower, it was bland, soggy letdown.)

Our server could not have been warmer or more outgoing. But more than once, the food runners that followed delivered hot food without any silverware or plates until we brought it to their attention several minutes later.

When the meal is done, there is little choice left at all. Everyone receives a complimentary dish of soft-serve, most recently a chocolate-fig-nut combo that sounds more interesting than the muddle of indistinguishable brown flavors it turned out to be.

Soft serve has evolved into a low-lift dessert solution for a number of restaurants. But it was also most notably popularized locally by the irresistible frozen brown butter whip encased in a tahini magic shell at Laser Wolf — which, if you haven’t noticed by now, debuted several concept features replicated by this Sansom Street newcomer. Imitation, they say, is a form of flattery. The quality of the reproduction is another matter.

So, Dear Daphni, the alarms were clearly not your fault. But your fate is very much in hands of the restaurant’s staff. I hope that one day you can get the goddess treatment you deserve: a more dynamic culinary vision that allows you to become an original.

125 S. 20th St., Philadelphia, PA 19103, 215-352-4988; deardaphni.com

Dinner Sunday through Thursday, 4-10 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, until 11 p.m.

Entrees and kebabs, $25-$78.

Wheelchair accessible.