Assaggio

2010 Fourth Ave (Downtown/Belltown), 441-1399.

Mon-Sat 5-10 pm.

"Mauro Golmarvi Is Back at Assaggio, Shaking Hands and Kissing Babies." It certainly stood out from the "Celebrate Lamb!" and "New Fall Menu!" press releases I usually get. Unless they're announcing new chefs or restaurants, I don't pay much attention to the constant stream of PR. But this press release touting Golmarvi's return from a medical leave amused me, since he's not in Assaggio's kitchen, but up front, as its host and impresario.

Golmarvi is known throughout the city for his ebullience, and I wanted to get my hand shook. I wanted to get my baby kissed. (I'd need to borrow a baby for that, actually.) But when I showed up at the downtown restaurant, I realized that while Golmarvi was back at the restaurant, he wasn't actually there that night. Instead, a warm, mellow woman guided us to our seats.

I was prepared for a show. What I got, instead, was a very nice meal.

The room is painted in the honey-toned fresco colors that so many 1990s Italian restaurants chose, and bits and pieces of the Sistine Chapel are reproduced on the walls and ceilings. Call me crazy, but isn't it a little bit of a downer to watch Adam and Eve get kicked out of Eden while slurping up dinner? At least the Last Judgment didn't make the cut.

Despite the overripe decoration, the restaurant is a cozy place to sit, largely because it is one of the most acoustically perfect restaurants I've experienced. The whole place was filled with a pleasant murmur of conversation that never crescendoed above happy animation, nor fell to knife-scraping silence.

I have friends who are strict traditionalists when it comes to Italian food, who have very little patience for any dining practices that fall outside their yardstick of authenticity. The food at Assaggio probably wouldn't pass their muster: It is genuine, but in the tradition of tourist-friendly restaurants. No matter. We ate well.

Our good-natured waiter steered us to a nice half-bottle of Chianti. As it was poured into glasses nearly as large as the bottle, my man Andrew made the usual fava-bean joke. Somehow, I think Hannibal Lecter would be a traditionalist.

There were sautéed squid ringlets ($8.95) served with an equal volume of peppery, chunky tomato sauce, a dish that functioned best as a kind of spread on toast. After one taste, I claimed Andrew's brodetto aconetano--mussels, clams, scallops, and bay shrimp packed in a fragrant tidepool of creamy saffron broth ($8.95)--for myself. In bouillabaisse, in paella, and in creamy concoctions like this, there is no friend to seafood like saffron. But I'd be happier if the kitchen nixed the bay shrimp--they're always tougher, less juicy, and less fresh than larger prawns.

Minestrone ($6.95) was a neat mince of zucchini, carrots, onion, and even broccoli, less soupy than stewy. Somewhere back in the kitchen someone is working hard, tidily dicing an awful lot of vegetables, because my gigantic veal osso bucco ($23.95) also came smothered in a medley of carrots, celery, onion, and tomatoes. Deep within the sauce, there was a note of lemon zest, which became even more pronounced when I ate my leftovers straight out of the refrigerator the next day. The osso bucco came with risotto, which was underseasoned and uncreamy--perhaps another tradition that I don't know about.

Despite the menu heading "Primi," the pasta portions are good old American entrée-sized, leaving little room for dessert, let alone secondi. But Andrew managed to polish off the zingy capelletti ($15.95), envelopes of ricotta draped with coral-toned creamy tomato sauce, eggplant, and shrimp.

Desserts were very good. Tartufo ($6.75) was a two-layered ball of chocolate and hazelnut semifreddo studded with crisp bits of candied nuts. The white layer in the center had a boozy spumoni kick that was both old-fashioned and delicious. The frutti di bosco tart ($6.75) had a crumbly crust and a browned-butter flavor that mingled nicely with the very tart berries.

Assaggio's prices seem high for a restaurant without precious ingredients: no exotic meats, no coddled heirloom vegetables. I hope the guy who neatly minces all those vegetables gets paid really, really well. Nevertheless, I'll go back for the seafood soup, for the tartufo, and (cross my fingers) for some baby kissing.