By Paul Reidinger

CAN THE WASHINGTON Square Bar and Grill exist without Herb Caen? That is the question. Actually it is a misleading question, since we already know the answer, which is yes. Or perhaps Yes, but, or but.... But I maunder. We know that Caen has gone – he died in February 1997 – and we know too that the Washbag soldiered on for a few more years before morphing into the Cobalt Tavern, just in time for the collapse of the dot-com roof.

Now the powers that be of Cobalt, Guy and Rose Ferri, have resurrected the Washbag. They will have to manage without constant plugs from Caen, but they do have on their side a rather splendid menu that honors both North Beach's Italian roots and the modern California emphases on freshness and seasonality. And they have the familiar space, freshened a bit but still commanding its lovely longtime view of the greenery in Washington Square.

A friend thought the slowly twirling ceiling fans made the Washbag seem "like a restaurant in the South," or (it seemed to me) like the set of a Tennessee Williams play, but the overall effect of the interior design – the two-tone paint scheme of burgundy and cream white, the high ceilings, the long bar, and of course the framed black-and-white photos hung liberally throughout the dining room, depicting the Golden Gate Bridge under construction, among other things – are purest old-school San Francisco. The look is clean and classic, sumptuous but not showy; like North Beach itself, the Washbag seems yuppie-proof.

That is not to say that yuppies would not like the food. They would love the food as we loved the food. The menu unobtrusively achieves the synthesis of influences and communities that eluded Reed Hearon at the nearby, and now defunct, Black Cat: there are old Italian influences, modern California flourishes, and even a bow or two toward the power lunchers, many of whom can be found these days at Moose's on the other side of the square, eating Mooseburgers under the solicitous supervision of proprietor Ed Moose, who founded the Washbag in 1973 before selling it in 1990 and launching Moose's two years later.

Aficionados of the Mooseburger will be interested to know that the Square burger ($9.50 with jack cheese and swaddled in, of course, squares of focaccia) is quite the equal, in well-seasoned juiciness, of its cross-park rival. It's served with a tussled heap of soft, sweet griddled onions and a heap of frites that would do Philippe Jeanty proud.

If that seems a bit heavy, then perhaps a BLT ($9) would do more nicely, though the bacon is cut thick, the lettuce and tomatoes are buttressed with quarters of ripe avocado, and the mountain of fries is plenty for two. I donated half the supply to a ravenous and much younger companion and still nearly passed out from alkaline-tide exhaustion an hour or so later. Lunch at the Washbag is not for the dainty.

The Italian dishes are of a fairly high order. One of the more frankly lusty items is probably the "Sicilian penicillin" ($5.50), a bowl of chicken broth fortified with little chicken meatballs, shreds of fresh spinach, and plenty of ziti. But Ferri's kitchen then proceeds to lighten a pair of classics by forgoing beef: carpaccio ($6) is of salmon, fragrant with lemon and topped with a cooling salad of shaved fennel root and red-onion marmalade. Tartare ($7), meanwhile, features spicy chopped lamb on crostini and an oriental breath of mint and capers.

Being accustomed to California innovation, we were quite taken with a grilled pork tenderloin ($16), set on a bed of black-eyed peas and spinach, and sauced with a spicy-sweet chipotle molasses. It was, somehow, Southern – an effect I suppose was enhanced by the ceiling fans – and at the same time beautifully au courant. On the latter point: the meat was cooked medium rare, with a winning blush of rose inside.

Even better, we thought, was a sautéed halibut filet ($19.95), topped with a bright-green pea puree and laid atop a mushroom reduction thick with corn kernels, shiitake mushrooms, and diced red bell peppers. All this amounted to the four seasons on a plate: wintry-white fish from gelid Alaskan waters, springtime peas, corn as yellow as the summertime sun, and mushrooms coaxed from the ground by autumn rains. It doesn't sound promising when described in cold type, but in practice it turned out to be a surprisingly cohesive presentation – tasty, bright, and light.