Usually when restaurant staff notice me pulling a behemoth digital camera out from under my napkin after my food arrives, it attracts some curious glances, aroused suspicions or sometimes even demands that I erase the contents of my memory card immediately and contact the PR department of media corrections.

Dining last week at Spinasse, pasta prince Justin Neidermeyer's new "cascina" on Capitol Hill, I could tell they were on to me right away. I waited for the reproach -- but shot after shot, no one batted an eyelash. Finally, "I smell a blog!" our waiter teased. They're so used to this, it's as if taking pictures before your meal is the new grace.

Talk about hype. The buzz surrounding the opening of Spinasse, a tiny, homey artisan pasta joint in the former Globe space, is all over a guy whose closest thing to his own restaurant has until now been a few steel poles holding up a canvas canopy at the Ballard Farmers Market.

Sure, he's an alumnus of Café Juanita. Sure, his handmade pastas have been sought after by (and denied to) eager restaurateurs across the city. He's just 30 and wins instant intrigue points by plying his craft with homemade pasta tools in a dim, sepia-toned crawl space above Via Tribunali and rubbing spatulas with the likes of Matt Dillon (Sitka & Spruce, The Corson Building) and Michael Hebberoy (One Pot, Pike Street Fish Fry). The only way you could experience his raviolis and papparedelles until now was to either secure a reservation for his occasional dinners at Sitka & Spruce or buy them at the Farmers Market and cook them yourself.

But as of his official opening three weeks ago, Neidermeyer has crossed into the realm of the accessible and it's not making his pasta any less desirable. Yelpers are trumpeting five stars and Ronald Holden of Cornichon.org called Spinasse a "major paradigm shift for authentic Italian cooking in Seattle."

This is Italian food of the countryside. Antipasti plates ($9-$15) range from a simple Salami plate with cipolinne onions to a deceptively simple cold poached veal with a mayonnaise of house cured local tuna, capers and lemon.

Pastas don't get any more basic. Maltagliatti in brodo, random cuts of pasta served in broth with extra virgin olive oil and parmiggiano reggiano; hand cut egg pasta with ragu. The fanciest dish of the moment (the menu will ever be changing): a ravioli of escarole, prosciutto and ricotta with butter and sage. The prices ($15-$19) seem high until you bite into the stuff. The quality of the ingredients and the sheer otherworldliness of the pasta itself is indeed on a plane all its own.

Secondi courses follow, of which there are currently only two: slow roasted young goat with chickpeas and cabbage ($24), or roasted rabbit with carrots and potatoes ($26).

If you can all agree on what to eat, the tasting menus served to the whole table are the best value by far. Choose one antipasto and one primo (pasta course) for $29. Forty-seven bucks will get you two antipasti, one primo and one second, or order the whole farm for $75. Choosing wine to go with it all is easy. Every bottle on the list is meant to taste good with every dish on the menu. 

Neidermeyer named Spinasse a "cascina" -- not a restaurant, but a farmstead. Not only has he brought its bounty to your table, he has tinged the space around you with wood beams, wrought iron, white lace curtains and tall candelabra, inviting you to indulge in the intoxicating romantics of his rustic world. Pretend you're dining in a sepia-toned photograph. Snap a picture and marvel later at its antique air. It may not take the place of saying grace, but when dinner comes, trust me. You'll be giving thanks. 

What's on your table? E-mail cellerd@gmail.com.

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