Mehmet and Yucenur Dayi, the Turkish owners of the new Oliva restaurant on the far west side, describe their menu as "Italian and Mediterranean cuisine." That's probably a smart business strategy, as Italian and Mediterranean food is familiar and popular in these parts.

It may also reflect the wider public's lack of appreciation of Turkish food -- often considered one of the world's great cuisines, along with those of France and China. While the sultans of the Ottoman Empire were gobbling up chunks of the Middle East, Europe and northern Africa, the far-flung cuisines were bonuses of the conquests, to be fused and refined in Turkish kitchens. In Madison, Husnus on State Street has had a long run, and the former Tanyeri Grill introduced many people to the delights of Turkish food, but there's been little else.

Here, the incandescent Yucenur, who shares cooking duties with her husband, often with her little boys hanging on her apron, visits each table to explain the nuances of the Turkish cuisine. She's also eager to point out that everything here is made from scratch, that nothing on the hand-painted ceramic plates ever did time in a can.

The tutorial is helpful, and sometimes necessary. What, we wondered, was that marvelous dark red-orange spread we'd just slathered on cubes of fresh, toasted pita bread? That would be chaman, made with pepper paste, olive oil, walnut and herbs, and one of the hotter things on the menu. And the orange slaw? That's slivered carrot with yogurt and walnut, which puts to shame the coleslaw we're used to. And the orange-colored cracked wheat salad? That's kisir, which is tabuli like you've probably never had it before, made with an orange wheat. Rounding out the appetizer combo plate were stuffed grape leaves, which had its rice filling amped up with currants and pine nuts.

Vegetarian entrees are common in Turkey, and our server recommended The Imam Fainted, a perfectly seasoned saute of tender baby eggplants stuffed with long-simmered onion, tomatoes, garlic, green peppers and pine nuts. It was served with the most beautiful rice pilaf I've ever seen: The mound of jasmine rice with flecks of browned orzo glistened, and tasted as good as it looked. So often, rice seems like a gummy afterthought used to fill the blank space on a plate, so this was a revelation.

The lamb shish kebab, a Turkish favorite, included cubes of well-marinated, mildly spiced meat served with more of the beautiful rice.

Another of the under-represented Turkish entrees is the Salmon ala Turka, with a grilled salmon fillet surrounded by sauteed vegetables: artichoke, julienned carrots, celery and red pepper in a light white wine sauce, with rice pilaf.

Proof that you don't need a wood-fired brick pizza oven to produce superb pizza was found in the Deluxe Pizza, with a yeasty, crisp hand-tossed crust that was thin, but not skinny, with mounds of good toppings: pepperoni, sausage, beef, onions, mushrooms, green peppers, black olives and lots of cheese. The pizza alone is worth a visit.

Another of the many other reasons is homemade pita bread unlike any other served in the area. It's lighter and loftier, about an inch thick, and served at the beginning of the meal with a spread of chopped kalamata olives, capers and roasted garlic. That sort of spread is showing up in many restaurants lately, nudging aside the little dishes of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, which in turn displaced blended butters, and before that the pats of butter in paper. Anyone who likes bold flavors will appreciate the trend.

Turkish soups that begin the meal are traditionally thin, closer to consomme, and the bright red lentil soup contained legumes that were more emulsified than usual.

Mediterranean restaurants must, of course, have baklava and creme caramel, and the sweet, syrupy versions here made a fine finale at a restaurant that promises to have the same long-term popularity as Husnus.

Oliva is a new bright spot in west-side dining
Simply Turkish