Add a dash of Italian exuberance. . .

My friend Elizabeth is not to be trifled with when it comes to food. She is a superb cook and while she doesn't necessarily demand the most expensive restaurant to dine out in, you wouldn't want to take her to a dive, either. Da Vinci's in Leixlip was a long shot. "The best name for Italian food outside Dublin," said the advertisement, but since Dublin is hardly little Naples, that didn't carry a lot of weight. Leixlip used to be a place you flashed through on the way to somewhere more interesting. Then along came Intel and Hewlett Packard, and now it is a thriving town in its own right, with riverside apartments and a vast hinterland of housing estates with names like Cyber Plains.

Arriving on a filthy night, we had to park some way away and squelch back in the rain to the main street (delightful in open-toed sandals). A stink of old drains rose to meet us as we crossed the Liffey, but that was soon overwhelmed by a waft of garlic emanating from Da Vinci's.

This is a big restaurant with a smart dark green facade - a welcome change from that horrible rhubarb-and-custard Antica Italia look that blights so many Dublin suburban restaurant and pub fronts. There is a takeaway pizzeria on one side and it looked to be doing brisk business. In we went, to warmth, noise, good smells and a fine crash of crockery as a trayful of dishes met its Waterloo somewhere behind the scenes.

A harassed-looking hostess whisked us to the back of the restaurant, where there is a small bar area for those who have to wait. Two upright chairs were dragged from nearby tables so that we could sit down, and there we were left for quite some time. No asking if we would like a drink, no menus, no indication that we would be seated soon, or ever.

The room goes back and back, with the rear area - judging by the number of high chairs pulled up to tables - reserved for family groups. A man stood behind the bar manufacturing cappucinos and lining them up on the counter for a waitress to take away. In between pressing buttons and pouring froth, he stared off into the middle distance, a little pool of calm in the din all around. Giving a hand to serve the drinks obviously wasn't part of the job.

The kitchen is a huge, open, stainless-steel stage with a row of swarthy chefs setting things alight with great pyrotechnical sizzles and whoomphs. Its exposed brick walls and lights suspended on lengths of wire all add up to a contemporary cucina look that is probably a big cliche in architectural terms, but is still very pleasant to dine in. Most of the neighbourhood must think so because the place was packed, with a queue at the door and the phone ringing constantly.

Finally we were shown to our table, which was in a special corral for couples at the front of the house. We were seated in a row of four tables for two, and there were more couples all around us. Nearby was another area for groups of four and six, where people seemed to be having a jollier time.

As soon as we sat down, a waitress appeared with menus and came back very quickly to take orders. It was a big, fold-out, laminated menu, slightly fraying at the edges, with a vast array of pastas and pizzas. On closer inspection, a lot of them were similar dishes with a good deal of cream and ham in various guises. The lasagne came with chips - the way the Irish like it - and, judging by the food being served around us, breaded mushrooms with garlic mayonnaise was the favourite starter.

We didn't have to worry about blunting our appetite with bread because none came. Later we asked for it twice and finally got a basket with one soft white roll cut into slices, for which we were charged £1. Now that is a bit mean. Surely in a place where they make their own pasta and pizza bases daily, even hourly, they should be making bread, too, and serving big generous baskets of it to everyone. Raw vegetable and dip wasn't the most exciting starter, but the alternatives were either a bit odd - like smoked mackerel salad - or hugely calorific with everything drenched or deep fried in oil.

The vegetables were fresh but sad-looking - tiny clumps of carrots, cucumber, celery and green peppers facing north, south, east and west, with a tiny pot of garlic mayonnaise in the middle. Very Abigail's Party and tasting of nothing at all. Elizabeth, on the other hand, loved her fresh spaghetti with chilli and sun-dried tomatoes. The parmesan came in a small white bowl, and though it was freshly grated, there was very little of it left. The waitress doled it out with a teaspoon, as if it were fresh truffle. "I'll come back if you want more", she said, whisking away the empty bowl, then promptly forgot about us: another margin-shaving exercise that is really annoying. Why not charge everyone a pound or two extra and give them as much cheese as they want, and a good crack at the pepper mill as well?

I was saving myself for the main course of penne with smoked salmon and cream sauce and it was entirely excellent - not least because the pasta had been cooked and not just heated through. There was lots of it and it stayed hot right to the last mouthful. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the sheer size of her veal escalope. Several slices of meat came on a huge plate, engulfed by delicious-looking sauteed potatoes. (The salad she had ordered instead of vegetables never arrived.) It was an impressive plateful but she could only eat about half of it.

There was nothing on the dessert menu that we hadn't seen a hundred times before - profiteroles, banoffi . . . but, wait, Cassata. Was it home-made, we asked the waitress. Yes it was, she said, and brought us a plate of thinly-sliced ice cream with a pretty centre studded with fruit and nuts, and a bright pink ice-cream trim that gave the game away. Everyone around us seemed to be having the banoffi, which looked very sticky and delicious. Good, strong coffees finished off the meal.

Our waitress was polite but distant. The overall feel here is that they want to feed you and get you out with the minimum fuss. It's efficient and the food is way above average, but they could do with a bit of Italian exuberance to make people feel welcome. Our bill, including mineral water and espressos, was £41.

Da Vinci's Italian Restaurant, 87 Main Street, Leixlip, Co Kildare - phone 01 6244908. Open seven days. Laser cards not accepted.