La Villini

What's in a name? In the case of the family-style dining spot called La Villini, some less-than-perfect Italian : "La" (the) is singular, "Villini" (cottages) plural. But if there's a bit of grammatical disagreement in the restaurant's appellation, nobody eating in the bustling main dining space or the quieter balcony near the bar appears troubled. So long as the kitchen cooks with lots of gusto -- and garlic -- just about everybody is happy.

I was certainly pleased with the zuppa di clams, fresh littlenecks in a tomato and garlic broth that demanded extra bread for soaking up juices. A mountain of fried calamari was crisp, hot and tender, receiving a boost from a side of the garlicky -- but not acidic -- marinara sauce. I thought the seafood salad a trifle vinegary, but the Caesar salad hit all the right notes, its dressing neither too creamy nor too cheesy, just clinging to (not engulfing) the crisp Romaine.

"You want to hand me that plate, pal?" our server said to a member of our party wedged on the wall side of a round table for six. This was shortly after the place had opened, the waiter so busy portioning out platters of food that he temporarily forgot manners. Service has taken on a lot more polish since then. On my next couple of visits, we were asked whether we preferred to have our food dished out or serve ourselves. We chose self-serve.

Initially, though, I didn't take enough of the vibrant penne with broccoli rabe and sausage, so I returned for seconds of the al dente pasta, bright greens and spiced meat coated with a unifying garlic and oil mix. Rigatoni with escarole and beans also was rustic and fulfilling enough to send me back for more. I had a hard time distinguishing between the clams and the enormous cloves of garlic in the linguini with white clam sauce, an ode to the fragrant bulb. Instead of ordering scungilli or calamari over pasta, a friend requested a combination of the two. Aside from a few tough ringlets of squid, the seafood cloaked in a spunky marinara worked well.

Ordering entrees can prove a challenge. While dishes are geared to feed two to three, portion sizes vary, as do prices. While I liked the mellow but citrusy chicken francaise, I was surprised that two small cutlets were all we got for $15.25. Chicken campagnola, which cost $10 more, proved a generous country-style saute of chicken on the bone, sausage, potatoes and peppers. Our waiter said the salmon Dijon special would cost $23 (we had to ask); when the check arrived, we had been charged $26. What we got for that was an ample portion of flawless fish in a fine creamy mustard sauce.

Desserts were the serviceable standards -- tiramisu, cheesecake and cannoli. I enjoyed lingering over a well-made espresso. Here, as in Italy, nobody's rushing anybody out.

Reviewed by Joan Reminick, 9/30/05.