I know I'm feeling great but why, exactly? Perhaps that's an ungracious query to have of myself, but it's research, a self-survey that is part of my ongoing mission to unlock the endless puzzle of restaurants.

I look for clues that might account for my contentment as I sit in Abbiocco St Kilda. There's that nabbed-it feeling that we snared the last Saturday evening table. A buzz in the dining room bounces jauntily off glass walls and terrazzo tiles without overwhelming conversation: that could be part of it.

Of course, wine in front of me doesn't hurt, especially when it's Barolo, a special Italian red, poured by the glass ($28), using a Coravin wine-keeper system.

And there's the food, delivered with a flourish and explained with aplomb: smart Italian snacks and pasta, all tasty and satisfying.

You're probably way ahead of me. It's all of that, isn't it? We visit restaurants to eat but the true reason for dining out is to be looked after. We want that easy, safe feeling: other people have done the hard work so we can let the endeavour unfurl around us and – oh joy! – we'll have our hunger sated in the process of being cosseted. It's luxury and privilege, kingly even, if you'll allow me that proclamation.

Abbiocco St Kilda is the second restaurant from a small flotilla of hospo pros who worked at legendary fine diner Jacques Reymond. Two years ago, they opened an Abbiocco (rough translation, "food coma") in Highett and they've applied the same formula here: Italian food that's steeped in tradition but not afraid to tweak, an obsession with quality married with a passion for accessibility.

This street-corner space has cycled through a number of restaurants since the building was constructed in 2012. Abbiocco opened in July and already feels like a stayer.

There are myriad signs of care infused through this business: separate pasta moulds are set aside for coeliacs, and there's a glossary on the menu so you're not stuck googling "campanelle" (short curled pasta) or simply feeling excluded.

Experienced hands on deck mean there's a deep-in-the-bones proficiency that underpins consistency, probably the rarest quality in restaurants these days.

But what are we eating? Definitely pasta, made here from careful ratios of flour, semolina and egg. Glorious tagliatelle is served with a ragu bolognese that's slow-simmered and luscious but not overly heavy. Handsome tortelli are filled with sweet prawn and dressed with lemon-thyme butter.

I loved the sardines, layered over olive puree and dressed with celery and pistachio. The delicate, oily fish is barely cooked, just torched on the skin side to bring a little char.

You might start with golden-fried cauliflower mounted with salsa verde and ricotta.

And I'm sure you'll finish with the tiramisu, a paragon of the genre.

Abbiocco St Kilda is a neighbourhood restaurant, just like its Highett big sister. It's not fancy but it does make a person feel great.

I've decoded the mystery, now you just need to eat the pasta.