Trattoria La Rustica, Ravenna

When you find yourself in foreign parts and want to eat out, where do you start? At our place of lodging we have excellent kitchen facilities. If we're going to go out it is partly out of a need to keep your goodselves entertained. I'm very seldom looking for the highest of high notes. The roly poly man from France is not my holy of holies when it comes to recommendations.

And before you say it, neither is Trip Advisor. Leaving aside its doubtful spelling, some of the reviews which are left are barely literate. I have to concede that it's getting better, but in our memory it has a huge black mark which may never be eradicated. I used it in Sorrento. It listed at number 1 the restaurant of the hotel in which we were staying. That ended up with a score of 8.5, the lowest ever in the history of Tom Eats!

So how did we end up here? Simple. A bloke on the train told me about it. It wasn't quite as random as that. Of Italian heritage, Frank has travelled every province of Italy. We had a shared love of food, which kept the three of us entertained. When the conversation switched to baseball, L opted out. Frank shows his vintage by the luggage label on his hand baggage. Printed with his name, it came from PanAm.

You must go to La Rustica, he said. Well, Frank, we did. I hope you're keeping up your promise to become a reader of the blog.

It turned out to be just round the corner from us. Not much to look at from the outside, but an interesting looking menu. Get inside and rustic is certainly the word. That's deliberate. When Eugenio and wife Renza founded the place in 1989 they were looking to create something reminiscent of the countryside homes in Ravenna. The wall next to us was covered with antique kitchen equipment. (Well, I think it was kitchen stuff, though some of it looked as though it might have been used by a vet.)

Still family run, I believe. We were looked after by Michele and a lady whom I took to be his wife. Nice enough folk, but not born with hospitality coursing through their veins. Still, they guided us through the menu which was stuffed with local dishes. When in Ravenna don't be confused into thinking you're being served Roman food. It's Romagnola, as in Emilia Romagna. With Bologna as its capital, many would argue you're in the food heart of Italy.

Bruciatini is a simple dish featuring cubes of pancetta on a base of radicchio, dressed with balsamic. There is a baker of talent in the kitchen. The bread was excellent. Erbazzone is a local savoury tart, as is a sformatino. You can tell by the ino that it's a diminutive version of a sformato, obviously. We weren't quite sure what the pastry base was, but it contained artichokes and pecorino and mint and a bit of tomato and was sensationally good. From a separate (specials?) menu I ordered the vitello tonnato. That's barely cooked veal. sliced as thinly as is possible. The sauce is mayonnaise-like, made with tuna and capers. It can be a bit heavy - this was beautifully light. I was intrigued to see the menu state allo Zenzero. Ginger in a vitello tonnato? A tiny bit, but it worked. Absolutely the best example I have ever eaten.

To mains. One pasta, two plates of meat. Tortelli verdi were stuffed with potato. You have to be Italian even to think of such a thing. There was a sauce with a sprinkling of hazelnuts. I was very impressed with the bite I had, but its owner said she got bored half way through.

But for those of us who've had starters and are awaiting our main plates for carnivores, there is a buzz in the air. If you're a football fan you'll know the frisson when the ball goes to your star midfielder, the one who can make things happen out of nothing. And if you're not a football fan, you'll know what happens when a balloon is pricked. Sadly, the air went out of our dinner with the arrival of the meat.

The menu promised so much. The lamb cutlets were in carpione. That's to maximise flavour with a marinade of vinegar, wine, garlic, onion and herbs. The pork was to come with a Sangiovese sauce and shallots, almonds and herbs.

Have you ever been to a really disastrous barbecue? One where from the charred embers you detect a hint of what might, in the right hands, have been a thing of loveliness? OK, so ours wasn't quite charred, but to use a technical term, it was cooked to b*****y. The faintest hint of marinade could be detected from the lamb: the pork dish had a smidgeon of a once tasty sauce surrounding two sad, grey lumps.

When ordering we had asked about contorni (sides). No need, we were told, they come garnished. Nothing with the lamb: the rather nice bitter greens and a wee bit of semi dried tomato were the best part of the pork plate. At our post mortem over breakfast, we contemplated a JustGiving page to send chef on a meat cookery course. Or maybe it was his night off and he'd delegated to his pal whose day job is in a crematorium? Who knows? Such a shame.