Let's talk for a moment about tinted windows done right. They work well for mood-dining, perhaps, or limousines. When coupled with a revamped Honda Accord, a rear spoiler and some spray-on flames, tinted windows (purportedly) denote the hidden presence of the uber-cool: Snoop Dogg might not be riding in the car, but at least he's spinning in the Kenwood.

Now let's talk -- briefly -- about tinted windows done wrong. And more specifically, let's talk about what happens to a dining spot when its indoor characteristics (cheery! fresh! young!) are undone by a veneer of darkness. That's right: The Pita Pit, a newcomer to the SouthSide Works scene, has taken the last part of its name far too literally. It opened about three weeks ago, on Grade-A Carson Street property. Yet who would know? From the outside, at least from a slight angle on the road, its property appears dark, like some after-hours gathering point for Local 427.

So here begins Munch's attempt to counteract the problem, because the Pita Pit deserves a chance. The mini-chain has spread around the United States with its simple formula: It sells cheap, fresh pita sandwiches in areas swarmed by college students, a populace proven to love the "cheap" and even tolerate the "fresh." Pita-wrapped sandwiches, Munch feels, add a new and worthwhile element to Pittsburgh's grab-and-go dining scene. Stuffed with the right mix of grilled meat and greens, a pita keeps you from the oil and grease of typical quick bites. Tastes great, too -- like a wrap with more personality.

Now for the problem: Munch needs the Pit to survive. Before writing, Munch stopped at the Pit several times: once during the workday lunch rush, once before hitting the bars on a Saturday night and once for a late-night snack. Never were more than four people seated inside. Never were more than two people ahead in line. The Pita Pit also offers a delivery service, so yes, Munch realizes the chance that Pit customers never even dismount their futons ... but, more likely, the Pit needs some help. Someone to help shine the light, if you will.

The Pita Pit -- like Subway, its (vastly inferior) sandwich-serving stepbrother -- puts customers at the assembly line. To begin the process, you pick your pita's main ingredient. The pita offers a certain beauty because of its chameleon-style versatility. Ordered as a gyro, it tastes Greek. Ordered with hummus or falafel, it tastes Middle Eastern. Ordered with steak, it tastes Philly. Ordered with enough chicken and barbecue sauce, it tastes (almost) Deep South.

Thankfully, the Pit's ingredients zing. All Pitas cost between $4 and $6, but by the time they're stuffed with the goods, one alone constitutes a decent meal. First time through the line, Munch ordered the "Chicken Crave" -- obtuse code for the glorious twofer of chicken and ham. As Munch watched, a young employee -- who possibly parked his flame-painted Accord out back -- tossed the ham and chicken breast onto a grill, then chopped the stuff into bits. Munch requested fillings, too: lettuce, tomato, olives, peppers, onions, cheddar, cucumbers, honey mustard.

"Now that's a pita," the employee said, handing it to Munch, seemingly satisfied with his creation.

The thing had enough cool veggies to fill the middle of the food pyramid -- and enough flavor to make that a privilege, not a chore.

As with any restaurant where a lot of food lands inside a tight package, customers find themselves at the mercy of the pita-maker. A well-wrapped pita keeps the ingredients secure until the end. A loose pita spells spillage -- and perhaps the late-meal appearance of the fork and knife. For the benefit of pita-eaters as picky as Munch, it should be reported that two of Munch's three pitas held together perfectly. The other collapsed like wet newspaper.

On a later visit, Munch stretched the variety, ordering a falafel pita, keeping the veggie lineup the same and subbing tzatziki sauce. Experimentalists can push their limits at the Pit. Want baba ganoush? Yup, the Pit has it. Pineapples? Bacon? Avocado? Yes, yes and yes -- a colorful array.

That color is the Pita Pit's strength, by Munch's eye. It's a mystery why the Pita Pit, from the outside, would try to tell you otherwise.