Enotria, an attractive newcomer in Laurelhurst

"I didn't expect everyone to be so dressed up," my friend hissed. "I'm wearing jeans." We had just stepped through the curtains framing Enotria's front door and were standing in the spacious slate foyer next to a reception desk where a vase of coral roses bloomed.

"The hostess is, too," I muttered back, but saw reflected in the handsome mirrored dining room some of the most dressed-up diners you are likely to find in Seattle: men in ties and women in well-cut suits that accentuated their perfect postures and sleek coiffures. With impeccable table manners, they lifted aperitifs to painted lips and nibbled daintily at salad or fish.

But another cohort frequents this attractive Laurelhurst newcomer as well. Relaxed and animated, they swirl chianti in big-bowled stemware; fork into duck meatballs, rabbit loin and wild-boar cheeks; and aren't fazed by the oily fingers that result after raising a slice of pizza from plate to mouth.

That Enotria attracts both camps is greatly to the credit of owners David Hahne and Amber Luton, late of Minneapolis. She is the effusive, occasionally denim-clad hostess with the Julia Roberts smile; he is the tall, taciturn chef at the helm of the exposed kitchen, his frowning intensity visible to all.

Hahne's Italian-inspired menu changes often. It is lengthy and ambitious, and if some things don't quite succeed, there is merit in the effort.

A quartet of seafood antipasti kicks off the bill of fare. That shareable platter ($28.95) might include Kumamoto oysters, Dungeness crab cakes, pancetta-wrapped sea scallops, seared ahi or sautéed shrimp. The menu doesn't say so, but the server did: Each item also can be ordered individually for $10.

The shrimp are a distant kin to clams casino, their butterflied bodies packed with breadcrumbs jazzed with anchovy and capers. One bite transported me 3,000 miles and 30 years back in time, to a Greenwich Village joint with red-checked tablecloths. The red sauce — sweet, tart and thick with pine nuts and raisins — restored me to the present.

Good things kept coming in threes among the antipasti. Foie gras imparts a welcome gaminess to duck meatballs tempered with sage and painted with an inky blood-orange glaze. As for the bite-size tricorn bundles of Sottocenere, a truffle-flecked cheese wrapped in a chard leaf, I'm still dreaming about them. The musky scent tantalizes first; the cheese is pliant and the chard crispy at the edges; nutty-brown butter completes the seduction.

Rabbit loin stuffed with rabbit sausage was a rare disappointment among these small plates — and I do mean rare: The sausage packed into the tender rosy loin tasted undercooked. Presented on a bed of red chard and dabbed with a smoky tomato sauce, the circular slice resembled a terrine with a rim that was tough and rubbery.

After debating whether to segue to pizza or a salad, we opted to have our greens on top of a pizza. Good move. Buffala mozzarella and house-cured duck prosciutto join arugula on a brittle flatbread crust; the cheese is subtly smoked, the duck as slender as anchovies but with a chewy bite and bold flavor closer to jerky. The same creamy house-smoked mozzarella added interest to an excellent bowl of tomato-sauced penne pasta tossed with eggplant and red bell pepper.

The best dishes benefit from a nimble balance of vigorous flavors. Preserved lemon, fennel and bitter dandelion greens electrify a shrimp risotto that pleases even though it doesn't quite achieve the creamy coalescence of the Venetian ideal. Fennel and preserved lemon meet again as a foil for crisply seared pink grouper. Fennel infuses its light broth; lemon spikes its feisty green-olive tapenade.

Grouper was among "Secondi," or main courses, the section of the menu that seems to vary most from day to day. This is good news for the restaurant's regulars; they aren't likely to get bored. There is usually a steak and frequently lamb chops; veal, pork and duck take turns. You might come upon wild-boar chops one night, its cheeks another.

I recommend those chubby cheeks, a pair as soft as a baby's, glistening in a bittersweet balsamic glaze and propped on creamy polenta enriched with Gorgonzola. Lamb chops are equally comforting. Slender bones raised like elegant pinkies, medium-rare flesh encased in savory breadcrumbs, they perch on a cannellini bean stew — a dense and delectable mingling of legume and vegetables brightened with gremolata.

Lemon tart stood out on the votive-lit silver dessert tray, crowded with tiramisu, panna cotta, chocolate cake and more. Served warm with lemon sorbet and a crisp, dried, sugared lemon slice, it was an invigorating finale to a meal that unfolded at a measured pace.

Enotria's staff has an instinct for timing; they know when to banter and when to recede. They know the menu and can offer advice on wine. Should you decide on a cocktail (do try the Renaissance, a riff on the classic brandy Sidecar), they'll give you time to savor it. If you tarry after dinner, over tea or an espresso, no one shoos you away. It's a good sign when so many are so loath to leave. I was among them.

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com