Busy Italian spot on Route 1 treats you like an old friend

We've found an antidote to the bad-news blues in an unlikely place: in a strip mall off old Route 1, behind a garish pink neon sign with the giant letters PV, for Ponte Vecchio. If you didn't know there was a restaurant tucked in there, you might whip past thinking it was just another roadside cocktail lounge.

We got the first hint that PV might not be what it appears when we called to make a reservation - an old habit that we have found increasingly unnecessary in this recession - and learned that no, we couldn't get a table for three at 7 p.m. on Saturday, nor at 6:30 or 7:30. The place was booked. If we were prompt, they could squeeze us in at 6:15.

When we arrived, the hostess greeted us as if we were old friends. She whisked us to a table, and the perpetual-motion show began: men and women dressed in black buzzed everywhere, filling glasses, bringing out entrees, carrying trays of martinis. Even owner Luigi Campaniello, a portly older man in a crisp blue business shirt, was darting in and out of the kitchen, his arms laden with plates of food.

Stopping by our table, Campaniello told us the family-run restaurant had been open for 22 years. That made sense: it ran like a well-oiled machine, even with a party of 40 filling the extra dining room off the bar.

We felt cheered by so much activity, so much lively chatter, so much easy-elegant comfort.

The menu was simple, uncluttered by too many choices. We started with a Caesar salad ($9), big enough to share, made with Ponte Vecchio's own tangy dressing. ("We make everything here - the bread, the pasta, the desserts," said chef Mariano Campaniello, Luigi's brother. "Everything except the water.")

Appetizers are $10 and up, although we economized with a bargain item from among the daily specials: arancini and bucatini fritters ($8).

These were three lightly breaded balls fried in oil that looked something like chicken croquettes (arancini means "little oranges"). Two contained risotto, a third pasta with cheese. Unlike many a croquette, they were neither mushy nor oily but light and crisp.

A plate of half-moon-shaped sage pasta ($16) came filled with sheep ricotta and prosciutto and was served in a mild-flavored pesto and goat-cheese sauce. Our 16-year-old was quite happy with the dish. "Creamy and rich," he said as the pasta disappeared. There had been only five pieces on his large oval plate, not quite enough for a teenage boy with a hollow leg, but ample for most.

A more ordinary entrée was the braised short rib ($21), served with pesto gnocchi. Like barbecued ribs, meat that might have tasted tough and fatty was rendered chewy and moist by slow cooking, like a good stew.

An order of chicken Florentine ($18) - chicken breast rolled with prosciutto, fresh spinach, and fontina cheese - came in a light cream sauce with Brussels sprouts.

It was pleasant, but the meat was a little dry.

The food wasn't fancy or unusual, but dining here felt like a special occasion all the same. It was partly the ambience: wall-sized wine racks, lots of conversation (much of it in Italian, both among the staff and the diners), and servers who were clearly proud of what they were serving.

We ended the evening with a single dish of moist, sweet tiramisu. The waiter knew, wisely and without being asked, to bring us three forks.

COCO McCABE AND DOUG STEWART