The personal approach at Il Capretto d'Oro applies to dinners and diners

Run a small enough restaurant in a small enough town for a long enough time, and it's reasonable to expect you would recognize everyone who walks through the door, especially when you can see the front door from your kitchen. Strangers must be rare.

That could explain the stare our party of three got from Jeff Boswell the night we turned up for dinner at his Woodinville osteria, Il Capretto d'Oro, aka The Golden Goat.

Comfortably dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, Boswell was grating cheese over Caesar salads when we arrived. His "who the hell are you" look was deflected by Simina Bus, whose gracious greeting and expert stewardship of the dining room soon put us at ease.

Part maître d', part majordomo, part Mary Poppins, the petite Romanian-born Bus takes charge, guiding guests gently but firmly through the menu as well as the extensive, exclusively Italian wine list, replete with small producers you won't find everywhere. She proved savvy about both, no surprise since she's been working here for more than half of the restaurant's dozen years.

When I asked about a certain chianti, I discerned an almost imperceptible frown, a slight shake of her head. She directed me instead to something bolder, bigger — a blend of cabernet and sangiovese for the same price. She was right. It was perfect with the steak, one of the four entree choices.

Steak, pork, lamb and chicken usually figure among the entrees or "secondi piatti," though their manner of preparation changes. Several pastas compose the "primi piatti," and a handful of antipasti top a bill of fare that is necessarily brief: There is, after all, only so much one man can do working alone in his kitchen with one server, one dishwasher and his daughter Devon doing desserts. (She makes a terrific tiramisu, by the way.)

Boswell has been playing with pots and pans since he was 6 years old but embarked on other more-prosaic careers before devoting himself to what he calls "my art" by opening The Golden Goat, as it was first called, in 1994. His menu, like the restaurant, is small and personal, his cooking simple and straightforward. He starts with quality ingredients and combines them in classic Italian ways, with pleasing results more often than not.

When we indicated that we'd share everything family style, Bus nodded approval. Portions are robust. Dividing the 16-ounce rib-eye three ways was a good move, especially after splitting a lovely, if salty, asparagus risotto and several antipasti, not to mention laying waste to the bread basket and its companion: a golden bowl of extra virgin olive oil dotted with aged balsamico.

Antipasti are swiftly produced. Toasted hazelnuts join paper-thin slices of smoked duck breast to dress up the frisée salad. The duck tastes like lean, elegant bacon strips; the greens wilt gracefully under warm balsamic vinaigrette. The lemony Caesar employs crisp whole leaves of romaine lavished with parmegiano-reggiano and oregano-dusted croutons. Prosciutto de Parma splashed with balsamico also gets a salady spin: Chopped walnuts and purple ribbons of radicchio conceal the sweet ham.

Roasted garlic "paté" is an exquisitely smooth spread of garlic and ricotta served with crisp, oil-slicked crostini. A muted arugula pesto accents involtini, charred sweet red peppers wrapped around soft goat cheese.

Pastas include plump spaghettilike strands of stringozzi and tubular twists of umbricelli. Sautéed sea scallops nested among stringozzi noodles cloaked in a half-hearted pesto cream sauce — a nice concept, but the similarity of textures and insipid flavors created little excitement. Umbricelli cloaked in a gorgonzola sauce bristling with fresh rosemary displayed far more personality and provided worthy support for a pair of plump, fennel-flecked pork sausages.

Pork is a highlight among entrees. Rosemary and garlic permeated slices of roasted pork loin, the exterior deliciously crusty, the middle still rosy, the juices flowing into cannellini beans flamboyant with fresh sage. Pan juices bathing tender braised pork loin whispered more softly of sage, along with lemon, garlic and white wine, each in perfect equilibrium. Likewise, the balsamico sauce on the superb grilled rib-eye achieved just the right balance of tart and sweet with a slight red-pepper jolt.

Only chicken went seriously awry. The flattened, sautéed breasts struggled to survive a garlic, herb and white-wine sauce too harsh and acidic by far.

When there's a lull in the cooking, Boswell circulates through the softly lit diminutive storefront restaurant, which is the reverse of most: The main dining room is in the rear, and the exposed kitchen up front opposite a few more tables.

The whole place seats maybe two dozen. Tall wine racks lend gravitas. Murals depict faux windows opening onto verdant countryside, perhaps a panorama of rural Italy or an idealized version of the Woodinville wine country that surrounds the Hollywood Vineyards Shopping Plaza where the restaurant is located.

Boswell chats with those he knows, which appeared to be everyone but us. When his work is done, he settles into a chair by the door behind a newspaper. At the end of our first visit, he nodded farewell; at the end of our last, he asked if we had enjoyed our meal. We're not family yet, but we aren't quite strangers anymore.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com