Greenhouse Effect

But it's a sin not to order the stuff that's on Vaccaro's menu. It's a nice combination of the stylish, such as lobster-filled ravioli in a tomato cream sauce deftly punched up with a splash of Sambuca liqueur. Even the familiar, like the Kansas City Strip, gets a new take here. Vaccaro coats his with a gorgonzola crust and sides it with grilled portabella mushrooms.

There's not a lot of beef on Milano's menu, but one night when I was dining with Merrily and Bob, the special was a plate of tender beef tips glazed with a balsamic reduction and arranged around a creamy asparagus risotto. Merrily loved it so much, I practically had to beg for a bite. Bob wouldn't share a morsel from his favorite dish on Vaccaro's menu, a chicken saltimbocca that lives up to its name (literally "jump in the mouth"). It's a combination of vibrant flavors wrapped around that plump chicken breast: sage, fontina cheese, salty prosciutto, and a tart lemon butter.

That was the night I practically put myself into a carbohydrate coma (thanks to those addictively crunchy pencil-thin Torini breadsticks and a big hunk of ciabatta baked with sun-dried tomatoes) before the waiter even took our order. I considered one of the lighter options, such as ravioli stuffed with grilled vegetables, but I suddenly craved something spicy. Unfortunately there's nothing too fiery on Milano's menu. The turisti don't like spicy, I was told. The only exception is the gamberetti fra diavalo — the devil's shrimp. OK, so the crustaceans aren't so hot, but the fluted mafalde pasta practically steams with a pomodoro sauce potent with garlic and chili flakes.

The pretty, glass-paned dining room is just as attractive at night as it is during daylight hours, which makes this space particularly lovely from a visual standpoint. Aurally, it's a nightmare. The noise level can be deafening when the room is filled with chatty diners. There are plans to correct this by adding mesh umbrellas in key areas, but I worry that could potentially distort the airy, greenhouse quality of the space.

As a child, chef Vaccaro used to make homemade cannoli in his grandmother's basement in St. Louis. ("It wasn't on The Hill," he said; everyone asks.) Now he fills the traditional chocolate-and-pistachio-covered pastry shells with chilled ricotta and Chianti-marinated cherries. He also offers a dense, flourless torta di cioccolata and the ubiquitous tiramisu. The wildest creation is a meringue-covered scoop of lemon gelato, doused with limoncello liqueur and perched on a citrus-olive-oil cake. It's the kind of dolci one might order in Rome or this restaurant's namesake city. But Kansas City diners prefer the familiar, such as cheesecake or crème brûlée, to anything too exotic, let alone booze-filled. There's the occasional request for spumoni, but Vaccaro doesn't serve it.

When Milano's most recent makeover took shape earlier this year, the old bar was moved out of its claustrophobic corner to the front of the restaurant. It has never looked better, and manager Gretchen Keaton says bar business has increased dramatically. And by adding Dominic Vaccaro's culinary style, this snazzy-looking Milano is finally establishing an identity of its own. So go ahead, give Milano some respect.