Veeno, Edinburgh

After tasting three dozen wines at the Portuguese Wine Fair (thank you Diana Thompson) a spot of lunch was called for. And where more appropriate than Veeno, just round the corner? I'd passed by many times. It was, I think, my natural pedantry which put me off. Being fair, I suppose this spelling ensures that a non-Italian speaker pronounces the word correctly.

Veeno is part of a small chain: seven outlets, this being the only one in Scotland. It was founded in 2013 by Nino Caruso, whose great grandfather founded a vineyard in Sicily. That's still in the family, supplying the restaurants to this day. They take their wine seriously here, with regular tastings being available.

The menu has nods to Sicily and the south. Nduja from Calabria; fregola from Sardinia; caponata and salsa trapanese from Sicily itself. All ticketyboo with the first three. Sadly we'll have to return later to the latter. It's a great first impression on a chilly autumn day. A fine welcome from Toto, and some nicely daft quirky features. The name spelt out in corks, for example, and the list of cures for common ailments, with both cure and dosage carefully set out on a blackboard. The cure for insomnia, for example, is 1 glass of Inzoli; for mid life crisis, 1 bottle of Chianti, and so on. Naff for some people perhaps, but it amused me.

They don't use traditional Italian course names. Starters are headed I Piattini. Literally small plates, the subheading here is Italian tapas, From that we had bruschetta con nduja e stracchino, the latter a generous topping of melted cheese with chunks of crumbled and authentically fierce nduja. Caponata di Palermo is, for want of a better explanation, the Sicilian version of ratatouille. This was a fine example. A good start.

Nephew A ordered the ravioli nduja e pecorino, with a tomato sauce. The sausage was minced up with the cheese. As a result it was nowhere as fierce as my starter. Dish of the day. Then, sadly, it all started to go wrong. As the menu correctly described it, spaghetti al pesto trapanese  is, or rather should be, made with oil, basil, tomatoes, garlic and almonds. Many versions include pecorino as well. It was said to be created by homesick Genoese sailors in Sicily, using the plentiful local cherry tomatoes and almonds as well as basil. Pesto is a punchy dish, full of flavour. Or should be.

Now I know that Trapanese pesto isn't bright green, but I will wager that not one basil leaf was harmed in the creation of this tasteless plate of food. Maybe some salt will help? Possibly but the salt mill was empty. Surely that's a standard pre service check? When Toto came to ask if all was well, I broke the news. He went away. Returning, he said chef said it wouldn't be bright green because of the tomatoes. My Italian is pretty good, but I haven't mastered the phrase, never try to bulls**t a bullsh***er. Toto did concede that basil would at least show up a hint of green.

I left most of the dish. When we came to pay, I noticed it had discreetly been removed from the bill. In fairness, a replacement dish had been offered, but the damage was done, three fold. Chef shouldn't have allowed the plate to leave the kitchen; he shouldn't have tried to spin the line about the plate's contents; and Toto shouldn't have tried to push it. In fairness, chefs can be a pretty fierce lot, so perhaps he was intimidated. Still, that's one point off the cooking, one point off the flavour, and one off the service.

We passed on pud, but shared a reasonable cheese tagliero (platter) with a smoked cheese (scamorza?), two types of pecorino, one spicy, one truffled, and some crumbly little pieces of Parmesan with a gloriously thick and sticky balsamic.

Such a shame about that Sliding Doors moment. Without it I would have thoroughly enjoyed the whole meal (the company of course, was superb), written kindly of it and, possibly even returned.