I had to go back one more time. Yes, I’d already been to Olamaie several times in the past year. But if I was going to name chef-owner Michael Fojtasek’s restaurant the best in the city for the third time in five years (no other restaurant has more than two top finishes in my eight years), I wanted to be certain. My instincts were right.

What makes a restaurant the best in the city? It needs to have exceptional vision, strong narrative, flawless execution, inviting ambiance and considered service. And, of course, consistency. A great cocktail doesn't hurt, either. It needs to be the kind of place you recommend to friends if they have only one dinner in Austin. A place you want to spend your birthday, but also one you want to call up after a couple of drinks with friends to find out if a table might have opened up after the dinner rush.

Fojtasek traveled the South before opening the restaurant named in honor of four generations of women in his family, a lineage that stretches back to Tennessee (hence the graphic at the top of the menu). He was drawing inspiration to pair with his proven talent in hopes of changing the way diners thought about stereotypically heavy, one-note Southern dishes. He does so by taking the Georgia staple peanut and making a savory spread with the texture of hummus that somehow tempers and amplifies compressed watermelon and cucumber; and he elevates onion dip to new heights to accompany velvety ham and crunchy but airy hush puppies. An oozing jumble of Jefferson red rice from Georgia suspends the Louisiana-inspired bobble of Tabasco-zinged Gulf shrimp, dollops of shishito aioli and pools of electrifying red wine vinegar in a dish that reaches across the South.

The inspiration comes from all ends of the region. Fojtasek's appreciation for outstanding North Carolina chef Ashley Christensen’s tomato pie led him to make one with the smooth texture of cheesecake, tangy with cheddar and aloft with basil; and whether it’s a scarlet wagyu rib-eye or tenderloin served with a peppercorn Bordelaise, there isn’t a steakhouse in Austin serving a better steak.

Everything’s seemingly right there in front of you at Olamaie, the dishes more interested in comforting than confusing with descriptors and technical nuance. But there’s always more to it. You could be forgiven for confusing at first glance the sublime, puddinglike chocolate tart and its Chantilly cream with a pork chop that shimmers with a liquid onyx crust made of black garlic and apple cider vinegar. The hunk of exceptionally tender meat comes with a white cloud of peach-studded farmers cheese. The chef said the dish was inspired by his time spent eating peaches and cottage cheese with his grandmother as a child. It’s a sweet story, but you don’t need to know it to love the dish. You can feel it in your bones. And I didn't even mention the biscuits.

(An aside: I invited my very particular friend on that final visit to Olamaie. It was a risky move. He’s the only person I’ve ever taken to dinner who has sent a dish back. He did it at Olamaie soon after it opened five years ago. I was probably more mortified than the kitchen. He had remained a skeptic despite my public championing of the restaurant — some friend, huh? By the time our meal ended, I almost had to ask him to quit complimenting the kitchen to our server. Maybe now he’ll trust me more often.)