Brace da Donati, San Marino

One can say definitively that San Marino is like no other place. Our terminology is loose, We tend to use the same words for the republic as a whole as for the capital city. The former has claim to be the world's oldest republic as well as the fourth smallest country. The capital sits at the highest point atop Mount Titan. Its three famous towers cling to the mountains, evidence of astonishing feats of engineering.

For the energetic and agile the area provides many routes for walking; for the shoppers there is a mixture of those with tourist stuff which make Edinburgh's Royal Mile look tasteful, and emporia supplying lethal weaponry in every conceivable shape and style.

And for the peaceful visitor there are numerous places to enjoy a drink with a stunning view. Near the mountain top I chat with our waiter. I'm interested to know if, in addition to Italian, there is a local dialect. He laughs. 34,000 people, he tells me, and six dialects. Pointing east he continues, that lot down there can't understand that lot over there. over there being a flick of the thumb in the other direction.

Visit for yourself. Form your own opinions. Don't let me sway you with my highly subjective views on what has to be one of the weirdest places ever. Anyway, a good dinner can smooth over the widest of cracks. After some research we come on this place and book our table for seven.

We're the first in. It's a striking, cave like space, painted completely in white. I believe it was in fact carved out of the rock. There is no decoration save for one feature on each table. A little statue depicting a famous work by a well known artist, and a little information booklet. Ours is Magritte: the table next door is Klimt. Like the space itself, simple but striking.

Marco seems to be running front of house on his own. Proprietor is chef Jose Luis Donati. It's hard to find out much about the man, other than that he trained at one of Italy's top academies, and has excelled in some important competitions. It would have been interesting to see the kitchen. Brace means embers and the menu has a section entitled al camino, (from the fire).

The place fills up pretty steadily. Despite our having been first in, it's while before we see any action. There is some bread. Home made, but not today. But it's toasted which is fine, and the whipped butter may well have been produced on the premises as well. And we have a couple of amuse-bouches. (Interestingly, the Italians don't have a word for these.) There's a take on the local flat bread, piadina, with some guanciale (pig's cheek) and a much more successful tart. Hummus, but with a lovely pepper gloop atop.

Obviously our order is taken at some stage. It was probably about 7.45 by this stage. L isn't having a starter. Not a problem, said Marco. The risotto takes 20 minutes anyway. If only. I play the how many types of pasta game by ordering plin di agnello. From Lombardy, apparently. Ravioli like, stuffed with minced lamb and herbs and sauced with a gloriously rich, ultra reduced beef brodo. Sensationally good.

The menu says nothing about allowing time for contemplation and meditation. Perhaps we were supposed to guess there was something Zen like about the cave. Anyway, nothing much happens. I had failed to notice the tasting menu on the back page. I wouldn't have gone for it, but the steady stream of food being delivered to our neighbours who had, doesn't improve our mood. 9.30 strikes. We have been here for two and a half hours and L has had some bread and a couple of nibbles. The troops are turning mutinous.

In the nick of time Marco appears, bearing two interesting plates. The risotto features quail and pickled plums. The first taste is fascinating. There's a hint of cinnamon, a spice rarely encountered in Italy. The combination itself is unusual. But then you realise it's too salty, possibly to do with the pond of melted butter round the side. Too rich for L's taste, and ultimately unsatisfactory.

As is the norm this trip, my dish - pigeon today - was stunning. In the hands of a fine chef, you'd expect two or three things done with the bird. Pan seared breast - check; roast leg - check. There was a spoonful or two of pate; there were two pigeon ravioli, and the liver and heart were sautéed and served in a rolled piadina. Chef spoiled it by using stale bread, which was a shame. There were a couple of braised pointy peppers for colour and some wakame. I took this to be a bitter green, but on investigation I discover this is species of kelp native to the Pacific. A lot of airmiles to San Marino, but tasty nonetheless.

There was a small selection of dolci, but as we wanted to be home by midnight we passed. Scoring this meal is a nightmare. Bar the stale bread, I had two 9/10 dishes. Let's make it 17/20 to adjust for that. L's, on the other hand, despite the early promise, had serious flaws. 5½, say. And as for the service! Marco was a nice enough fellow, but we would have been entirely justified had we simply walked out an hour before the mains arrived. A great pity. On a good night, with an extra couple of pairs of hands, one suspects that Sr. Donati could produce something truly memorable.