It was a no-brainer. There we were, hungry in Newport after a cocktail party, where finger food got us only so far. It was a cold, drizzly night -- and a Monday to boot, when few restaurants are open. So, not having an Italian grandmother of our own to drop in on, where else to go but Puerini's?

In fact, hanging there prominently is a portrait of an Italian grandmother, Marie Puerini, who taught cooking to the father, uncles and aunts of Daniel, the chef who founded the place 20 years ago, at age 19. Apparently she also taught them high standards, as we were reminded on this visit.

Puerini's doesn't take reservations, and if you've seen the long lines outside on weekends (longer any night in the summer), you might consider coming on a rainy Monday yourself. The non-smoking restaurant feels especially cozy with rain dribbling down the lace-curtained windows. The walls are brown and cream for warmth, with Warren photographer Angelo Marinosci Jr.'s pictures of passersby on Italian streets. In this ambience, the stainless steel tables under the bistro paper come across as cool rather than cold.

The next thing that impressed me about Puerini's imagination was that instead of Italian bread with our peppered olive oil, we were served a tasty French baguette. Imagine that. Choosing for flavor rather than ethnic expectations. This made me trust the extensive wine list, which is heavy on Californians as well as Italians. (As a Rhode Island crowd-pleaser, Portuguese vinho verde is available by the glass.)

In another touch that I wish would catch on, specials of the day are printed out, so you don't have to try to remember every ingredient in every item that interests you. A disadvantage was that I could stare at the tantalizing description of an appetizer that Johnnie didn't want, passione melanzane: "Eggplant slices filled with white truffle, foie gras whipped potatoes under a shallot cream sauce." Instead, we got the polenta of the day ($6.95), which was vegetarian. It was also light and filled with bits of broccoli, leeks, and carrots under a bright and sweet marinara sauce. I was not unpleased.

A specialty of the place these days is veal. There are 11 preparations, from the usual alla marsala and its San Fillipe variation with hot banana peppers, to a festive alla cacciatora with cognac and tarragon. All varieties are $19.95 and come with a half order of Puerini's fresh fettuccine. For three bucks less, you can substitute chicken.

There are also a half-dozen piatti di verdure, from veggie lasagne ($14.95) to linguine with pesto ($12.95). I recalled from a previous visit how earthy that pesto was, so rich with ground pine nuts.

Johnnie ordered the vegetarian lasagne, but the meat-eater's version came out. It looked pretty good to this carnivore, with plenty of sausage slices and, I knew, meatballs broken up in there. But veggie she ordered, so veggie she'd get, as the waitress promptly and pleasantly brought the dish back to the kitchen.

While my counterpart waited, we dug into my shrimp scampi ($15.95), which shared one key virtue with the above-mentioned pesto: the white and spinach fettuccine wasn't floating on a sea of olive oil; there was just enough to give flavor and let the Romano stick to the pasta, and garlic strong enough to level Transylvania. There were lots of medium shrimp, fresh and cooked just right.

As good as that was, when Johnnie's now gratis lasagne di verdure arrived and I had a few bites, I forgot that I'm a hunter at heart who usually gathers just to be social. Zucchini slices not mushy; a nicely balanced blend of cheeses; the marinara sauce that had been such a light touch on the polenta. I don't think lumberjacks would laugh this off their plates.

Desserts are a must-have here. Poached pear to gelato, tiramisu to chocolate tartufo, all kitchen-made. We had to have two. Orange-almond chocolate mousse ($7.50), thick as fudge, served in a martini glass, intoxicating. And flammo di banano ($8.95), sautéed bananas and chopped walnuts in a brandy-rum sauce, with vanilla gelato: sinful.

There used to be a Puerini's spin-off in Fall River, which also housed their pasta-making operation, which services other restaurants. That operation, run by Dan's sister Karen, is now in Tiverton, sans restaurant, but offering some take-out. Puerini's is the sort of place -- comfy and one step from nonna's kitchen -- that Italian chain restaurants can only pretend to be. But I guess it would be simpler to just clone ourselves. OK, foodies? Have plenty of children, raise them at Puerini's, and the world will get to be a better place, with laudable culinary standards.

Bill Rodriguez can be reached at billrod@reporters.net.

Issue Date: January 18 - 24, 2002