I'm not a big fan of syrupy romance, especially the Lady and the Tramp-Italian-restaurant brand, but one night at Machiavelli made me a believer.

Nestled near of one of my favorite Seattle intersections—Melrose and Pine, with the wildly popular coffeehouse Bauhaus across the street, the bar Chapel kitty-corner and a view that looks straight down Pine from the Paramount to the Pike Place Market—Machiavelli often goes unnoticed thanks to its frenetic locale.

This is not to say that it is unpopular. When my companion and I arrived at 6:30 p.m. there was already a short wait, but thankfully it was happy hour and our two delicately concocted drinks totaled $5.50.

When we left, close to 7:30 p.m., the bar was packed and the wait was near an hour.

Machiavelli's bar—through which one enters the establishment—is an adorable jewel box, complete with soft red lighting, candles and the buzz of fashionable couples hovering dangerously close to one another.

Were it not for the much-hyped promise of incredible and inexpensive pasta, I might have stayed and attempted to garner the story of a man sitting alone by the window who looked like he hopped straight out of Goodfellas.

Probable mob clientele aside, Machiavelli quite possibly strikes the perfect balance between a romantic restaurant and an East coast neighborhood Italian joint. Nothing is over-done and yet nothing is plain or out of place.

The lighting is soft and tasteful and yet the walls are whimsically decorated with the grade school pictures of children. And though the establishment may be packed (there are less than 15 tables), a seat by the window—looking out on Pine and Melrose and people-watching—feels intimate.

This says nothing, however, of the pasta.

After a prompt and courteous round of service and a bite of rustic Italian bread with olive oil, my fettucine carbonara ($9.95) arrived hot and perfectly seasoned with pepper and parmesan. Carbonara, a dish often ignored by the Chef Boyardee-inspired menus of most urban Italian restaurants, consists of the simple combination of a light egg sauce, pancetta and a generous dose of pepper.

Machiavelli's rendition was almost erotically delightful and with each thick slice of pancetta coated in creamy egg sauce, I fell deeper in love.

My partner's tortellini formaggi ($9.95) was equally delicate and filling, featuring pillowy-soft cheese tortellini lightly tossed in a cream sauce with pancetta and snow peas.

Both plates were large, but unlike some Italian restaurants that attempt to feed an army in one dish, the portions were just right.

Long after our pasta was gone and our hunger satiated, we desperately tried to mop up the last lingering traces of each sauce in order to savor the flavors—not unlike the other couples that leaned close over their plates.

They weren't preparing for some sappy public display of affection—they were all vying for that last piece of cream-soaked pancetta.

Hi, my name is Maureen and I'm an Italian-food-aholic. g