Osteria del Tempo Perso, Ravenna

One of the few downsides to reviewing dinners abroad is that, for obvious reasons, readership figures do drop. Understandable; however, some time soon you may hear of chums off to visit Ravenna and your street cred will grow by passing on recommendations.

Never mind. I promise this is the last. The next couple of weeks will see reports of an old friend, and news of the hottest ticket in town. Tempo perso means lost or wasted time. In a restaurant, the time is certainly wasted (along with your money) if the meal is poor. It might, therefore, seem an odd name. I prefer to think of it in the sense of the hours being lost to pleasure, passing by almost unnoticeably. We have a place of the same name here in Edinburgh. It's on my list.

Basilica di San Vitale Mosaic

The Ravenna version is just around the corner from one of the most spectacular churches you will ever visit, Basilica di San Vitale. Here, perhaps, a confession might be in order. After decades travelling around Europe, the average church very seldom floats my boat: in fact, even a cathedral has to go some to register even a small wow. I had obviously heard that Ravenna was famous for its mosaics, many from the fifth century. OK, I thought, worth a visit, but when you've seen one mosaic, you've probably seen them all. How wrong can you be?

And after you've been blown away by the San Vitale splendour, Tempo Perso is a fine place to unwind. Established in 2004 by the splendidly named polymath Massimo Serena Monghini - he doesn't look nearly old enough - it prides itself on catering as much for Ravennese as for tourists. His stated aim was to create a comfortable space akin to your sitting room. The room reflects his other interests, photography and music. There are books and images and records. You feel comfortable.

Be warned that the emphasis is very much on fish. While on first glance the concise menu follows the traditional Italian shape, you have to read it carefully. Thus you might think you were going for the simple dish of spaghetti with oil, garlic and chill. But look carefully and you'll see that there are mussels too. The spinach and ricotta ravioli contain prawns, and so on. Just looking for a pasta course? Fear not. You can have your capelletti in any one of three ways, butter and nutmeg, with beef ragù or in broth. And if you want to be complicit in strangling a priest*, you can do that with porcini mushrooms.

From the antipasti selection, I definitely didn't get what I expected. Tagliatelle di seppia involved no pasta at all, just the cuttlefish cut into thin strips and served with a pea cream and crispy guanciale (pork cheek). Rather good. Because I was going for a prawn main, I changed my first course order. I've subsequently discovered that I missed out on the signature dish involving crispy prawns, kataifi pasta, aubergine purée, tomato cream and a balsamic reduction. Next time, perhaps.

Prawn featured in our mains. L went for the ravioli which we mentioned before, enlivened with basil pesto. (For me, that would almost be a tautology, but in Italy they make pesto out of anything.) My roasted giant prawns were indeed what it said on the menu, there being little space left on the plate for the sweet and sour veg, and shellfish reduction.

The dessert (sic) section looked like it had been stuck on as an afterthought. I was tempted by the millefeuille with berries and Chantilly cream. One forgets that here in the UK we make our puds much less sweet than in days of yore. That trend hasn't reached Italy. (Interestingly, my Italian teacher Elena thinks that we use more sugar here than in her homeland.)

The loveliest part of the menu, one I had never seen before, came on the very first page, listing the names of those who were working in the kitchen, and those who were front of house. Signor Serena Monghini does things differently, and to rather good effect. Time spent here is definitely not time wasted.

*If you haven't been following the recent articles on pasta, you may be unaware that the name of the dish in question, strozzapreti, literally means priest stranglers.