RESTAURANT REVIEW : Mastroianni Would Feel Right at Home : There’s a good-natured spirit about this decidedly un-trendy Italian kitchen on the Sunset Strip.

A new Italian kitchen, Grappa, inhabits the site of the Old World Restaurant on the Sunset Strip. The interior has been redone in the mauve and gray, the brass and glass, of corporate hotel lobbies. The food is reasonably priced and reasonably good, the service pleasant and competent. But what I like best about Grappa is intangible--there’s a kind of good-natured, comic spirit about the place. Each time I ate there, I felt as if I was in a Marcello Mastroianni comedy.

On my first visit to Grappa, early on a Saturday night, we were welcomed warmly and seated at a tiny two-top, right next to the pastel-hued mural of birds of paradise. For some inexplicable reason, this table was not comfortable. To the embarrassment of my dinner date, I began dragging it a few inches here and there, certain that, with minor adjustment, it would become a better place to sit. Nothing helped. Finally, we asked to be moved to the table next to us, and I felt much better. As we ate dinner, four more couples were seated at that table, all of whom, to the astonishment of the staff, either asked to be moved or left the restaurant. Invariably, the poor waiter would show up with drinks or food for the jinxed table and find it empty. It was like sitting next to a set-up for “Candid Camera.”

As we waited for our appetizers, we munched on good hot bread with fresh, bright-tasting olive oil. Around us, the dining room--except for the table next to us--filled up with a casual, adult crowd:dates, a few large parties, a contingent of the country-club set and a good many Europeans. For a restaurant that’s just 2 months old, Grappa was doing a brisk business.

The staff was friendly, but some were still learning the finer points of service. The waiter brought out the appetizers and the salads at the same time. We’d ordered the antipasti caldi , hot appetizers, which came on two large plates. With the salads, there were many more plates than space--for a moment I was afraid we’d have to balance some on our heads. Finally, we asked the waiter to take back the salads until we were ready for them.

We ate thinly sliced swordfish, seared and placed on good salad greens; underdone zucchini blossoms stuffed with a gob of chewy cheese; ordinary mozzarella marinara, and very nice polenta squares topped with a creamy porcini mushroom sauce. The Caesar salad, when it reappeared, was cheesy but tangy and quite acceptable.

I was happy with my homemade linguine topped with many Manila clams. But my friend’s grilled tuna special wasn’t very good. The fish was overcooked and the tomato sauce was made with unripe, mushy, pale tomatoes.

The next time we ate at Grappa, it was early afternoon and we were placed in the bright pink polygonal sun room. Light streamed in from outside. We sat next to a window with a classic view of the Strip at its most intense: There was Tower Records, Spago, Book Soup, the Chaya Diner; there were billboards, traffic, pedestrians and a bus stop. We watched a whole dream unfold at that bus stop between a young man on a motorcycle and a woman waiting for the bus. Right about the time we got our appetizers, the man pulled up to the bus stop and said something. The woman blushed, shook her head. He kept talking.

We were having, for starters, the cold antipasto plate; when it arrived, we regretted ordering entrees. With the basket of good hot bread and bottle of olive oil on the table, there was more than enough lunch for two. Once we could tear our eyes away from the nonstop activity going on outside, we discovered there were wonderful little Japanese eggplant stuffed with olives and capers, and still more eggplant wrapped around goat cheese. I loved the marinated carrots; my friend loved the roasted peppers. We met up with some more unripe tomatoes under slabs of bufala mozzarella, but I suppose that’s one of the perils of ordering tomatoes in January.

We had most of the appetizers packed to-go so that we could eat our entrees. By the time they arrived, the bus-stop romance was proceeding nicely. The woman had risen from the bench, shaken the man’s hand and was talking to him at a closer distance. They were both laughing. We discussed whether or not it was prudent for her to ride off down Sunset with him. (Eventually, she did.) Meanwhile, we devoured rigatoni al forno , with eggplant and Italian sausage, which was crispy on top and delicious. A vegetarian pizza was well spiced, and the New York steak was a large, perfectly cooked, tasty piece of beef.

Grappa is not trendy. Its decor is a little pink, a little fussy. But unlike so many of the new little Italian cucinas , it is definitely not a formula restaurant. And something always seems to happening here.

Grappa, 8782 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood; (213) 659-6464. Open Sunday through Thursday 11:30 a.m. - midnight; Friday and Saturday 11:30 a.m. - 1 a.m. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Full bar. Valet Parking. Dinner for two, food only, $35-$60.