Caffe Calce, Ravello

Ravello's Piazza Vescovado is roughly square, and dominated along one side by the duomo of San Pantaleone, patron saint of the town. Directly opposite, the square ends in some iron railings, and the ground drops away into the valley. To the left, a café with outdoor seating and a small shop and, beyond, the Villa Rufolo. To the right, a run of ochre coloured peeling plaster on what was once an elegant building. And up a few steps in the corner, between Via Roma and Viale Richard Wagner, a white building with a wooden bench outside. If you peek through the open door you may see behind the bar a chap with greying-black slicked-back hair and glasses pushed back high onto his forehead. If you do, don't hesitate: walk in and ask him for one of his arancini, for this is Signor Alfonso Calce and his are the best arancini in all Ravello; perhaps the best on the Amalfi coast.

For each night of the week we were here, Caffe Calce was our last stop of the evening, after dinner at the Villa Maria where we were staying. We'd wander into the square and, usually, sit under the stars at one of Signor Calce's outside tables for coffee and limoncello. On a couple of nights, when the weather was cool or when spots of rain blew in on the breeze, we sat inside; sometimes the only customers, apart from an odd drop in for a takeaway or a beer. The television blasted out the football loudly on the wall in the corner while Signor Calce watched and cleaned glasses, and his daughter fed her own baby daughter at a table opposite. We'd often call in in the morning too to pick up arancini for a picnic lunch. We became temporary regulars and nodding acquaintances and on our last evening, when we said goodbye and explained we were going home, Signor Calce gave my wife a gift of a small bottle of limoncello. The contents are gone, but we still have the bottle. When we were last, more recently, in Ravello, he was still there: a little greyer, perhaps, but the glasses remained perched where they always did.

Caffe Calce, Via Roma, 16 - 84100 Ravello, Campania

Tel 089 857 211

Taverna del Duca, Amalfi, Campania

It's just coincidence that this restaurant in Amalfi is called the same as the one in Locorotondo mentioned in the last entry in this blog. There are probably hundreds of Taverna del Ducas across Italy. Like there are hundreds of Dog and Ducks across England, I suppose.

Anyway, it was here at this little restaurant that I ate a dish I'd not encountered before, and would be disappointed to see on the menu after a Tuesday. It was schiaffoni alla ragu della domenica, or pasta with Sunday sauce, and I enjoyed it, appropriately enough, on a Monday. Like many a Monday supper in our own home, the dish presumably relies on leftover roasted meat from Sunday. Whilst we have cottage pie with yesterday's roast beef or shepherd's pie with yesterday's roast lamb, they have pasta with Sunday sauce. I couldn't tell you whether the meat was beef or pork, but it was delicious, with the occasional caramelised burnt edge of roasted meat and a deep ragu of tomatoes and herbs and maybe red wine that spoke of long, slow cooking.

So why the picture of a guitar? Well, the service here was what you might call relaxed. Not sloppy or tardy, but casual. Our food was brought to us by a middle-aged chap with longish, thinning hair and a toothless smile, wearing a worn out jumper and jeans. Part way through the evening, he picked up a guitar and started to sing to the assembled diners. Except he sang so softly that no one could hear him. When he accompanied his playing with a kazoo (played just as inaudibly), it became bizarre. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Pepe.

Turned out that Pepe was a true wandering minstrel. On discovering we were English, he proceeded to regale us with tales of how he had worked in London as a young man. At the Café Royal, no less. And the Ritz. He punctuated his little tales with an occasional (soft) strum of his guitar. He told us how the people he had worked with had cropped up again in his life, unexpectedly, in other parts of the world. Strum. Like the boy from Naples who worked with him in London, before they went their separate ways, until he bumped into him in a park in Paris several years later. Strum. It was a small world. Strum. If truth be told, we couldn't get rid of him. Until he told us that he had a wife and five children to support and that he just worked in the trattoria to help out, they didn't pay him, and times were tough... we gave him a few euros, and he was off to the next table. Strum.

Next morning we wandered past the restaurant on our way down to catch a boat from the harbour. There was Pepe, setting up the parasols. He waved, as if surprised to see us. It's a small world.

Ristorante La Taverna del Duca, Piazza Spirito Santo, 26 - 84011 Amalfi

Tel 089 872755

La Taverna del Duca

Da Baracca, Amalfi, Campania

It's usually a good sign when a restaurant owner stands outside his establishment and welcomes his guests. It means he's also happy to stand up and be counted when they come to leave. The owner of blue and white Da Baracca, set in a tiny square back from the main Amalfi drag, stood next to a sign that proudly proclaimed 'since 1945' (think that meant the restaurant, not him, but it was a close-run thing) and gestured us inside.

Eating here was akin to stepping off shore for a while. Appropriate, I felt, in a place that once rivalled Pisa and Genoa in its maritime republic days. The owner gave us a captain-like welcome aboard. The waiters – swarthy, dark-haired young men of impeccable politeness – wore their shirt sleeves rolled tightly above their elbows, like sailors, and busied themselves on deck, bringing menus. Once seated, and when the restaurant tables had all pretty much filled, we set sail.

Though not exclusively fishy, the menu is mostly so. Certainly all of the most interesting dishes have maritime connections. As we read the evening's offerings, the captain brought us a platter of spankingly fresh fish to inspect, boldly claiming that he serves 'the finest fish in all of Amalfi!'

I started with what turned out to be one of the best dishes I've ever eaten in Italy. ('Dishes I've eaten in Italy' raises the bar from the outset, so believe me, this was good.) And like all the best dishes, it was simple. Homemade pasta with swordfish. Tender morsels of swordfish with black olives and capers and slivers of parmesan, tossed through short pasta. (Who said parmesan should never be served with fish? Not the Amalfitani!) There was some chilli in there too, or perhaps it was chilli oil, because the dish had a warmth to it wavering between gentle heat and fierce kick. Utterly superb. Next, an Amalfi classic, apparently – anchovy pie. Not really a pie, but a timbale of little roasted potatoes surrounded by roasted fresh anchovies, accompanied by a plate of grilled peppers. More superbness, and tiny tiny anchovy bones to crunch.

We chose a modestly-priced white wine from just-up-the-road Ravello, and we couldn't have partnered the evening's food better if we'd had a bottomless budget. At the end of the meal one of the happy sailor band brought each of us a complimentary glass of ice-cold liquirizia, like frozen cough medecine, while a guitar player strummed and sang into the night.

Yo ho ho ho, a pirate's life for me. (That's not what he sang. It's just how we felt.)

Da Baracca, Piazza dei Dogi, 12 (84011) Amalfi

Tel 089 871 285

I can forgive the restaurant for not having a web site of its own when their food and hospitality is this good. They don't need one. Thanks to Google images for the pic.

Cumpa' Cosimo, Ravello, Campania

Here's one of those restaurants whose reputation goes before it. Online reviews rave over it, mostly, and pay special homage to its owner and figurehead – Netta Bottone, a formidable black-haired lady of seventy-something who seems as much actress as cook. You might gain a different impression from the reviews, but let's be clear – country trattoria full of locals this ain't.

We ate lunch here, having wandered around a Ravello bathed in Autumn sunshine, alternately sleepy then busy as busloads of tourists arrived and departed. In the interval it seemed that most of them had found their way to Cumpa' Cosimo. I imagine that lunch is the restaurant's busiest time, as Ravello, swelled with tourists during the day, quietens down in the evening, left only to its inhabitants and those staying in the town itself. So dinner here may be a calmer, if less atmospheric, experience. At lunchtime there's a slight feeling of pastiche about the place, and it's all a bit production-line: inevitable if you're feeding hordes of tourists with a bus to catch, I suppose.

We were shown through the packed and noisy restaurant to a dining room at the back. Our order was taken by a distracted waiter and served by a surly one. But the food was actually pretty good. To begin, the floral-aproned owner theatrically brought us a 'complimentary' plate of tomatoes, mozzarella and grilled vegetables. Then we ate a meaty, fennely sausage topped with provolone cheese and a cannelloni with tomato sauce. And drank a small carafe of red wine. All accompanied by Godfather-like music from a mandolin player squeezing between the tables.

One of Signora Bettone's antics deserves special mention. Instead of presenting a bill at the end of your meal, she asks each table what they had to eat and drink, then does an eyes-skyward mental calculation and pronounces the total with a shrug in a 'well it should be more, but let's just call it this amount' sort of way. Charming eccentricity or a ploy to confuse you and increase the value of your bill? Up to you. In any event, the signora doesn't seem the type to argue with. And anyway, we'd enjoyed our lunch.

I did see her sneak a look at the bill in her pocket, though, just to be sure she'd got it right. Add businesswoman to cook and actress on her CV.

Cumpa' Cosimo, Via Roma 46, Ravello

Tel 089 857156

Lots of reviews, but strangely no website of its own that I can find. No camera with me either when we visited, so thanks to Google images for the Ravello pic. No, that's not Netta Bottone, but maybe one day she'll have a statue of her own.

Stella Maris, Amalfi, Campania

Everything in the town of Amalfi draws you to the sea. The main road through the town runs precariously alongside it, the bus terminus overlooks it, and from the harbour a myriad of boats ply the coastline. Even the roads high up in the old village tumble inexorably down to it. They say that if you drop a lemon anywhere in Amalfi, it will end up in the sea. Actually they don't say that at all, I've just made it up. But you get the idea.

Inevitably in such a tourist town, restaurants, pizzerie and bars cluster around the sea too, displaying their menus in English and German, as well as Italian. Our instinct tells us in such situations to move back, leave the tourists to it and seek out smaller, more traditional and authentic, and probably less expensive, eating options deeper in the town. But you have to be careful, or sometimes your instinct can simply make foolish food snobs of you.

The Stella Maris is a case in point. It's a largish place set on stilts above a dark, gritty beach, dotted with sunbeds and umbrellas. There's a small interior restaurant, a larger covered terrace and an open terrace of flapping canopies. Four of us arrived early in the evening. Well, more late afternoon, really, but after an early start and a long day, the first of this particular trip to Amalfi, we just needed good food and then comfortable beds. Maybe a walk through the town in between. We set our culinary expectations to average. But we were wrong.

We ordered a bottle of wine, which came with a basket of bread and a bottle of water, and quickly disappeared. As did any worries or misconceptions about the quality of the food, when our meals arrived. A mixed fry starter – with crisp pieces of fish, potato and fish croquettes and seaweed – was excellent. So was a tagliatelle with scampi, cherry tomatoes and rocket. And the fritto misto di pesce included especially delicious pieces of delicate octopus. The food was well-cooked and presented and generously portioned, the service laid back but efficient.

At first I thought the owner was a little on the surly side. But by the end of the evening we were chatting wholeheartedly and he was our new best friend. We watched the sun set over the bay of Amalfi and felt the temperature drop as darkness enveloped the plastic-shrouded terrace of the restaurant. A complimentary limoncello staved off the cold.

Prices were a little steep. But not as steep as the subsequent climb through the town to our hotel, swaggering like pirates, awash with octopus and prawns and seaweed and wine.

Stella Maris, Viale della Regione, 2-00100 Amalfi

Tel 089 872463

Stella Maris

I didn't get a chance to take a photo, so thanks to the restaurant's website for the picture above.

Hotel Marina Riviera, Amalfi, Costa Amalfitana

He cut a rakish figure at the arrivals barrier at Naples airport – slightly built, wearing jeans, a white shirt and dark blazer, sunglasses on his head, pushed back into his greying hair. And holding a paper sign with our name on it. He was our taxi driver, pre-booked to transfer us to our hotel in Amalfi. He loaded our luggage into the boot of the silver Mercedes and we were off.

At first the journey was one of straight, fast roads, as we left Naples and sped southwards. Our driver told us that he had grown up in this part of Italy, but had left some years ago and gone to America, where he had been (he said) a taxi driver in New York. I sat beside him, and as he told his story, he tapped my arm repeatedly for emphasis. After a while he'd had enough of New York, and had decided (he said) to come back to the place he grew up. Now everyone here called him Americano (he said).

After about forty five minutes, we turned off the main road. "Now I'ma gonna takea you ona the mosta beautiful Amalfi drive" Americano promised, in his best Robert de Niro accent. He tapped my arm harder, perhaps to emphasise the delights that awaited us. The road narrowed and became increasingly twisted, until it was impossible to see around each upcoming bend. Americano continued to drive with the same one-handed nonchalance that he had used to negotiate the autostrada, and now occasionally answered his mobile too, sometime talking for several minutes. Sheer walls of stone sped by on our right, whilst the road edge fell away in a scrumble of scree to the deep blue Mediterranean on our left. Periodically Americano would beep and wave to passing motorists, though they never acknowledged the greeting. Disconcertingly, he would tap my arm at the the most difficult point of manoeuvre, to tell me some tale or other. Oh, and he had a particular, almost psychopathic, dislike of oncoming German coaches.

At last we made it to Amalfi, and the more relaxed charms of Marina Riviera. Situated directly on the road that winds through the town, we nevertheless stepped into an oasis of calm and delightful hospitality. Cool tiles, white walls, simple furniture. Our two adjoining rooms had small covered balconies which looked out over the harbour and the town beyond. The breakfast room opened onto a sun terrace with the same view, and breakfast itself was very good, with all manner of sweet and savoury morsels with which to start the day. After dinner in the town, drinks on the restaurant's elevated terrace in the warm evening air, watching the lights of the offshore boats, was a perfect ending to the day.

At the end of our short stay, Americano took us back to the airport. En route we stopped for petrol. I can see him now, standing at the open car door, petrol pump in his hand, waving at the passing motorists, and puffing on a lighted cigarette...

Hotel Marina Riviera, Amalfi (SA), 84011 Via P. Comite, 19

Tel 089 871104

Hotel Marina Riviera

Villa Maria, Ravello, Campania

It wasn't the most salubrious of arrivals, our first night in Ravello. We had flown through thunderstorms above Rome and waited for two hours for our luggage at Naples airport before being driven at breakneck speed through heavy rain southwards to the Amalfi coast. To be deposited unceremoniously in Ravello's wet and deserted square and left to pick our way through the town's black, cat-filled alleyways to find our hotel: the Villa Maria.

Late, bedraggled and damp, we were shown conspicuously to a table in the elegant dining room, filled with people who seemed mostly to be finishing dessert. The waiter handed us menus and pressed us to order before the kitchen closed for the evening. I don't remember what we ordered – pasta I think. But we weren't in the mood to enjoy it. Tired and irritable, we quickly finished our meal, skipped dessert and coffee and retired to bed. We drifted to sleep to the sound of rain spattering our window, thinking of the clear skies and sunshine that we hoped the next day would bring.

It didn't. At breakfast the view from the enormous windows of the dining room was shrouded by a dense curtain of mist and rain. The plastic canopy over the dining terrace blew wildly in the wind, and the waitress shrugged and shivered in exaggerated reaction to the cold. Breakfast itself was brighter. There were fresh juices, rich coffee and herbal teas, home made biscuits, freshly baked bread, pastries and cakes. There was Parma ham and salami and cheese. And delicious, really delicious fresh fruit. Things were looking up.

Heartened, we borrowed umbrellas from the hotel and set off to explore Ravello. By late morning the rain had stopped, the sky was clearing and the sun appeared, quickly drying the pavements. The square came to life, as canopies were raised and tables and chairs were arranged outside cafés. The hotel now took on a brighter air too, and over the next few days we came to feel completely at home here. Our room was quite small and simply furnished, but adequate. The public rooms of the hotel were elegantly furnished, with beautifully tiled floors and tall windows.

The hotel's piatto forte is undoubtedly its outdoor dining terrace, a beautiful vine and bougainvillea covered area with stunning views down towards Amalfi and the Mediterranean. And the food...? Simple dishes, simply cooked and simply presented. And none the worse for that. It's the quality of the ingredients (many of them from the hotel's own organic vegetable garden) that matters here. We enjoyed delicious grilled lamb cutlets, home-made pasta, fabulously fresh fish, vegetables simply dressed with olive oil and lemon juice, amongst other delights. All served with charm and professionalism and a genuine respect for local ingredients.

From a very comprehensive list of Italian wines, we were invariably steered towards a local, inexpensive option. (Perhaps they thought we looked cheap!) That a wine made half a mile up the hill in the next village should perfectly partner a dish of fish caught half a mile away in the other direction off the rocks of Amalfi seems completely logical to me.

Villa Maria, Ravello, Costa d'Amalfi

Tel 089 857255

Villa Maria, Ravello

La Pergola, Capri

It was a steep and sweaty climb from hectic Capri harbour to La Pergola restaurant. But it was worth it. We sat outside in the sunny garden – a vine-shaded terrace where rosemary and basil grew untidily beneath an old lemon tree. Far below us, past the tumble of rosy-roofed houses, olive and lemon groves and vines, the sea was smooth and blue, crossed with the white trails of boats arriving silently from the mainland. We could easily see the port of Naples on the horizon and Vesuvius beyond. Even in the shade the air was hot and still. I imagined that the Romans who first colonised this island must have enjoyed days like this.

The tables were laid with crisp linen. Glasses sparkled in the sun. We were, at first, the only diners and, apart from the occasional chink of cutlery on plates from the restaurant as tables were laid for lunch, and the drone of bees relieving the rosemary flowers, we sat in hot and drowsy silence.

A waiter brought us menus and bread, and we ordered. Water arrived, and wine, and the heady aroma of frying garlic wafted through the heavy air. And then the pasta: bowls of fine spaghetti, slicked with golden olive oil and pungent garlic, flecked with specks of dried chilli. And dancing with flavour.

Funny, isn't it, how such simple ingredients can create such powerful memories?

La Pergola, Via Traversa Lo Palazzo, 2, 80073 Capri (Napoli)

Tel 081 8377414

La Pergola, Capri