With its superb food, Lawrence's Genovese reclaims a notorious Italian name

That night's pasta special, on the other hand, sounded none too light: ravioli stuffed with braised short-rib meat, sprinkled with sliced shiitakes and served in a soothing broth. I loved the dish, even though the ravioli was a little on the doughy side. Carol Ann's juicy and tender leg of lamb was slathered in a salsa verde — crushed capers, parsley and olive oil with only a hint of tartness. "It's so fantastic, I can't stop eating," she said, but she stopped herself after finishing half the dish (which Carlos boxed for her to take home) so she could have dessert. Then, she couldn't decide among the espresso gelato or the spring peach crème brûlée or the dark-chocolate budini.

"What is a budini?" she asked Carlos.

"It's very good," he said, smiling.

"I'll have it," she said.

In Italy, budino is a thick, cooked pudding made with eggs, heavy cream and starch. I've tasted different variations over the years, some made like a molten chocolate cake, others as frothy as a mousse. Genovese delivers it warm, swirled in a cup like old-fashioned chocolate pudding but with a firmer, pastrylike component in the center. Carol Ann was delighted, though two bites were enough for me.

And dessert was out of the question on my second visit to Genovese because I'd already eaten something rich and decadent at WheatFields. Still, I was ravenous for something savory.

Addison and Bob were immediately charmed by the place and by a brilliant young waiter — a future international business tycoon — who gave us his entire life story between courses. Shellfish-loving Bob was wowed by the presentation of pan-roasted mussels, served on a sizzling skillet in a light lemon butter ("They have a wonderful smoky flavor," he told us), and Addison devoured most of the delicately battered shrimp and calamari on the plate of seafood fritto misto. We also shared a first-rate Margherita pizza, enjoying the thin, crackly crust.

Addison made a meal out of the supple tuna tartare, while I savored each bite of a fiery puttanesca pasta.

Addison had been hesitant about driving all the way to Lawrence to eat in a casual Italian restaurant. "We've got so many great places in Kansas City, baby," he whined. "Can't we go to Lidia's instead?" But all the way home, he couldn't stop talking about how much he liked Genovese. His only complaint was that I couldn't find a parking place near the restaurant, and we had to walk a few blocks.

I had no sympathy. After all, that's what Massachusetts Street is all about.

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