So with a spring in my step and an emptiness in my belly crying out to be filled, I set out in search of what I hoped would be a pasta house worthy of my appreciation.Īs I quickly discovered, 'pasta palace' is more like it, run by a Principe della Pasta (Prince of Pasta), along with his vivacious, beautiful spouse. The restaurant has been in business for about a year, and the scuttlebutt has been overwhelmingly positive. That's when it struck me that I'd never gotten around to visiting Marcellino Ristorante on Northern Avenue near 13th Street. Golly, I wondered to my lonesome, there must be some place in town that serves primo pasta worthy of its ancient Italian heritage. Why, the only thing that's left me more morose of late has been the demise of that musty, old grande dame of an eatery Beef Eaters on West Camelback. Since the James tirelessly trumpets the laurels of its chefs and offers its pasta as the restaurant's specialty, the listless, unappetizing semolina squiggles I ate there sent me into a tailspin of depression.

No doubt what brought this on was my slightly disappointing visit a couple of weeks back to the James Hotel's Fiamma Trattoria, where it seemed like everything but its house-made pasta was first-class. I've been jonesing of late for some really excellent house-made pasta.