Original Brooklyn Pizza II

Maicol Chacon, born in Venezuela, studied the art of Italian cooking in his native country. Recently, Chacon became chef-owner of a little strip mall pizzeria-trattoria in North Babylon. Without altering its name or appearance, he's managed to take the place to a decidedly higher level by dint of his culinary skills.

You won't find anything fancy on the menu of Italian-American standards. It's virtually identical to that at countless other suburban spaghetti houses.

But order a bowl of pasta e fagiole or minestrone, and you'll be struck by its depth of flavor. What looks like an everyday antipasto salad -- lettuce topped with pinwheels of meat and cheese, pickled vegetables and olives -- turns out bright and satisfying, a robust house-made Italian dressing served on the side. Too bad the house-made mozzarella with tomatoes, basil and olive oil is refrigerator-cold instead of at room temperature.

Spaghetti and meatballs can be a measuring stick of an Italian-American restaurant. Chacon's meatballs are lush, well-seasoned, coated with a vibrant tomato sauce judiciously ladled over al dente pasta. I like the rich, chunky Bolognese sauce served over rigatoni. My bowl of linguine with white clam sauce is enormous; whole littleneck clams surround the pasta, which is covered by a haul of chopped clams. The dish is buttery, briny, just garlicky enough. Everything in a lovely mixed seafood platter -- shrimp, calamari, lobster, mussels and clams -- is cooked to precise doneness. And shrimp fra diavolo over angel hair has a feisty kick.

A family of four could make a gratifying meal of the eggplant Parmigiana. The same holds true of the spunky chicken scarpariello, on or off the bone (I prefer on), rife with sausage, potatoes and piquant cherry peppers.

No question, you'll leave here with major doggy bags.

Service, while sweet, can be tentative. On two occasions, the waitress had to go into the kitchen for answers to food-related questions. And the place could surely use a style makeover.

As for finales -- cheesecake or cannoli -- both are ordinary and easily skipped.

By then, who's hungry anyway?